Lifestyle Changes The Rewrite
by Wallace
Summary: Faith the Vampire Slayer finds her way to a rather special school. Being rewritten and re-plotted to accomodate X-Men 2.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Lifestyle Changes – the re-write.

**Reason:** Well, many of you will have seen X2. I'm trying to adjust things to fit, and simultaneously slim down the story a little. The big alterations start round about chapter three.

**Author:** Wallace (wal_lace@hotmail.com)****

**Chronology:** This is set in 2001 just after the end of season two of Angel and season five of Buffy. For those who are defeated by the recent lack of continuity, this means that Buffy is currently extremely dead, and Angel has headed off to either Tibet or Sri Lanka to deal. Wesley is still clean-shaven, but tough and capable and good friends with Gunn. Gunn still has his rough edges. Fred is still being Crazy Lady in the attic. On the down side, mutant thief Gwen Raiden hasn't turned up yet, though I may be able to wedge in a reference somewhere. There will be spoilers for most episodes that have featured Faith, but not much more.

This story takes as an assumption that in 1999 the 'near future' was 2001. Therefore, this is just after the events of the two X-Men movies. There will be heavy spoilers, especially for the end of X2. Seriously, if you haven't seen it, and don't want the ending ruined, stop reading right now.

**Disclaimer:** The vast majority of the characters and concepts utilised or referenced herein are owned by people and companies other than myself. Personally I always feel that they belong as much to the actors who play them as to the hacks who write them. That said, I'd like to confiscate Storm from Halle Berry.

**Casting:** The original version of this story – which will be removed when this version overtakes it – made much mention of casting, since it's a crossover between a movie world and a TV world. That said, the Jubilee in my world will always be a 5'4, elfin, blue eyed thief, with a smart mouth, psychotic tendencies, and horrible taste in clothing. Otherwise,

            Faith (Wilkins)                                       Eliza Dushku

            Wesley Wyndham-Price                         Alexis Denisof

            Cordelia Chase                                      Charisma Carpenter

            Charles Gunn                                        J August Richards

            Veronica Sawyer                                    Winona Ryder

            Scott Summers (Cyclops)                       James Marsden

            Robert 'Bobby' Drake (Iceman)                Shawn Ashmore

            Henry Philip 'Hank' McCoy (Beast)          The voice of Kelsey Grammer, coupled with SFX

            Warren Kenneth Worthinton III (Angel)     Jared Leto with the dye job from 'Fight Club'.

            Marie D'Ancanto (Rogue)                        Anna Paquin

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)                          John Leguizamo, minus about twelve years

Lucas Bishop                                        Keith Hamilton Cobb

Logan (Wolverine)                                  Hugh Jackman

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)                     Alan Cumming

Katherine 'Kitty' Pryde (Shadowcat)         Katie Stewart

Professor Charles Francis Xavier             Patrick Stewart

**Random Pop Culture Fact:** Trapper John's real name is John Francis Xavier McIntyre. Coincidence?

**Feedback:** Feed my addiction.

**Archiving:** Yes, please. Pimp me.

Prologue 1988 

'So . . .' He says weakly. 'Now that you're dead, what are you going to do with the rest of your life?'

She manages a smile. They've been to hell together, though by different routes. They brought each other here. The least she owes him is a smile.

She finds a cigarette in her pocket. She holds it up to him in a mock salute. A few days before, he lit up from her burning hand. Today?

The cigarette hangs from her mouth. The clock ticks down, stops for a moment, starts up once more.

She waits.

**1993**

'You don't have to. Not yet.' Lucas tells her.

'I **am** gonna have to tell him, sooner or later.' Shari points out. 'You can't build a relationship on lies, big brother.'

'What will you do if...?'

'If he turns out to have issues?' His younger sister shrugs at him. 'If he can't take dating me, we break up. That's all.'

'And if word gets out?'

'That I'm a mutant? Then I have to put up with the mutant-haters as well as the racists, I guess. It's no big deal, Bish. This is nineteen ninety-three, not eighteen ninety-three. It's not like we're gonna see a lynch mob chasing me down or something.' She smirks at the ridiculousness of that thought. Her brother remains grim-faced as ever.

1999 

'Well, look at you.' She says. 'All dressed up in big sister's clothes.' She is the big sister, too. Buffy may be two years older, have been doing this two years longer, but before that? Faith's already older than the blonde will ever be, inside.

'You told me I was just like you. That I was just holding it in.'

They're standing face to face now, and once again Faith isn't sure whether she wants to kill the other girl or fuck her senseless. Even with the new attitude, which reminds Faith far too much of herself, Buffy still has that effect on her. She can't help but smile.

'Ready to cut loose?' She asks. All good things come to an end.

'Try me.' This isn't a capture. It's a confrontation, although only one of them realises it.

Faith's still smiling. Buffy's not here to bring her in, dead or alive. She's here to establish once and for all who's better.

'Okay then. Give us a kiss.'

2001 

Agent Sawyer's desk is a mass of too much paperwork. Assigned to retroactive cases going back before she was born, she's been unable to work her way through the backlog. She isn't expected to.

After all, you don't want boat-rockers having time on their hands.

When she volunteered for the Task Force they were happy to have her. She was one of the FBI's bright young things, fresh, intelligent, and very capable. She had an excellent record, if a little short on experience, and was known to be a fairly ordinary, well-balanced individual, her tendency to obsess over explosions and shootings in high schools aside.

Unfortunately, she turned out to be a little too well balanced. Suddenly the Agency had a sympathiser on their hands. So they partnered her with the other worrying member, and assigned them to working their way through old cases. It was intended to stultify them both.

To Veronica Sawyer, it had proved fascinating.

Perhaps it was her memories of high school that drove her to pay special attention to files like the one she now held in her hands. Perhaps it wasn't, but all things considered, the odds are against it.

'Hey, Luke!' She called, and her partner looked up. Two metres tall and massively muscular, the hugely intimidating African-American had served in the US Marine Corps and NYPD before joining the FBI. Like her, he was rather more open-minded about their topic of investigation than most members of the Task Force. Like her, also, his record was far too impressive for them to simply drop him.

'Another incident in a high school?' He asked, nodding at the file. They'd been working together long enough to know one another's obsessions.

'You could say that. It got blown up.'

'Blown up?'

'As in, bomb go boom. Blown up. Destroyed. Levelled.'

'And there's no explanation…'

'There's already been an investigation. No, what interests me is one of the peripheral details.'

'Which would be?'

'Included among the casualties was the local mayor. No body found, but still officially very dead, though reports are confused as to whether or not he was already dead when the bomb went off. He happened to have an adopted teenaged daughter.'

'Left homeless?'

'Not quite. A couple of days previously she was badly injured and left in a coma. He'd already made provisions to keep her hooked up to life support no matter what, so that was okay.'

'She manifested?'

'It's complicated. The records on her are very incomplete, but at the time she was wanted for questioning in connection with five violent deaths. About a year ago she woke up – which was eight months after daddy dearest was killed – and didn't stop to talk to anyone, just busted straight out of hospital.'

'It sounds as if she's resourceful, but otherwise . . .'

'The doctors agreed that after the first month her chances of regaining consciousness were zero.'

'So she beat the odds. Coincidences happen, Sawyer.'

'Luke, what have I told you about calling me that? Anyway, that isn't the end of it. She was picked up by the local police at the home of one of the people investigated in the destruction of the school, and promptly broken loose en route to the station house by unidentified assailants. She reappeared in LA, where she beat up a couple of people before handing herself over to the police and making a full confession, not just to several assaults and violent crimes, but also to three of the five killings, despite there being no evidence to link her to the commission of said crimes.'

'Sentence?'

'She got unlucky, and pulled a bad public defender. No date of birth, but she said she was seventeen and what few records they had confirmed that. With all that and her full confession the lack of evidence wasn't enough to get her below Murder Two. Twenty-five to life, and she's been sitting in California State ever since.'

'I still fail to see the significance.'

'First, if she is to be believed she killed a college professor named . . .' Sawyer paused to check her paperwork. 'Lester Worth when she was sixteen. This guy was stabbed to death. The coroner's original report concluded that the crime was committed using a sharp knife wielded by an exceptionally strong individual of below average height.'

'How strong?'

'There were clean incisions through his ribs, spine and left shoulder blade. They reckoned the force required to inflict that kind of damage would require a body builder on PCP.' Luke nodded. 'Second, she went into the coma from critical injuries, including being stabbed in an identical manner to Professor Worth – same strength, same knife, which was found at the scene – and falling off a tall building. She had multiple broken bones, massive blood loss, brain damage enough to leave her a permanent vegetable, and the knife wound to the stomach had pretty much minced her internal organs – we're talking never eating solids again.'

'It all healed during her coma?'

'It all healed within a _week, excepting the brain damage. That's what took the eight months. Third, and this is the big one – at the age of sixteen, seventeen, she perpetrated several confirmed assaults on rather larger targets, and left them looking like they'd been hit by a truck. Healing and strength, Luke.'_

'And you want to investigate this girl... what was her name, Sawyer?'

'Faith Wilkins. And could you please call me Veronica. Or Ronnie. Or Ron.'

'Call me Lucas, then, not Luke. Luke is a Jedi Knight.'

'Lucas is a weirdo in a black turtleneck.' He looked puzzled at that. 'And, yeah, I want to investigate her. At the very least we can go visit the pen, ask her some questions.'

'About her abilities, not the destruction of the high school.' Her partner reminded her. 'Very well, you'd better go pitch it to the AIC.' He leaned over to grab the file from her hands, dropped the hard copy back onto her desk, and slid the accompanying floppy disc into his laptop. 'I'll get to reading.'

She stood, and headed over to the door to the inner sanctum of the Task Force. The sign on it read:

Cameron Hodge 

**Agent-in-charge**

Mutant Investigation Task Force 

Behind her Lucas Bishop opened his private E-Mail account, and sent the entire contents of the floppy disc to an old friend.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

'Looking at this file . . .' Lucas began.

'Yeah?' Veronica asked. She was driving, and in the current rainy conditions had to concentrate on the road.

'It would make sense not to limit our inquiries to the girl alone.'

'Duh.' She overtook a particularly badly driven lorry, and pulled back into lane. 'Who else you got in mind?'

'The obvious possibility would be the arresting officer.' He was tapping keys, and she heard the faint beeping of his satellite hookup. 'Kate Lockley. Currently...' He paused, and then. 'On indefinite suspension without pay. Undergoing psychiatric evaluation. Has been since about five months ago. Apparently she'd gained an obsession with what this report calls 'unusual crimes', but no mention of mutant involvement.'

'We got a home address for her?' The turnoff sign loomed through the rain, and she jerked the wheel over hard. Lucas picked up his laptop from the footwell and started tapping keys.

'And phone number.' He pronounced. 'We can call her when we get to the motel, try and see her first thing tomorrow.'

'No rush, Luke.' His partner pointed out. 'It's not like the girl's going anywhere.'

On the other side of the continent . . .

In fact, in Westchester County, New York State, at Xavier's school for Gifted Youngsters.

Scott Summers finished reading and looked up at his mentor.

'Beta class?' He suggested.

'It looks that way.' The Professor agreed. 'Do you think she's worth investigating?'

'Well, it sounds as if she'd be a useful addition to the team. On the other hand, if she really did commit these crimes it seems unlikely that she'd fit in to the school. An eighteen-year-old convict . . .'

'Is exactly what Remy would be if we hadn't got to him before the police did.'

'Remy is a thief. This girl claims to be a murderer.'

'True. And I suspect that she was also telling the truth. I also believe that killers are made, not born. A mutant in the correctional system will not receive the attention necessary to rehabilitate her, while a mutant here . . .'

'A human in prison isn't much better off, Professor. Why should she get special treatment from us?'

'To make sure that she does not get special treatment from them. Styker may be dead, but his legacy lives on, and we can't afford to let someone like this fall into the wrong hands. I've already made a few calls.' He passed a long and complicated legal document across to Scott. 'This is a pardon, signed by the Governor of California. It's a forgery, but with a little help and some counterfeit identification it should be enough to get her released. It would be best if you could persuade her to come to the school before having her freed.'

'But?'

'As you pointed out, she might well prove a disruptive influence.'

*Like Jubilee and Bobby aren't* Scott found himself thinking, and quickly shot a glance to the other man's face to see if he had picked up on that. It appeared he had not; he was still talking oblivious.

'Therefore I think the final decision should be left with you. Go to Los Angeles and talk with her, perform an on-the-spot evaluation. My contact will keep the FBI from reaching her until late tomorrow.'

'You want me to go alone?'

'No, but I'm honestly not sure who you should take with you. Not Logan, if that's what you're thinking; he's hardly likely to pass as a government agent. And not Bobby, either; I honestly can't imagine the consequences of sending him in to a women's prison, but I am certain the experience would be anything but beneficial.' Scott had to smile at that. He also now had a good idea where the Professor was headed.

'Remy has proved he can convince as much older than he really is. He's also undeniably charming, and has a lot in common with this girl. If he can be persuaded to tone down that atrocious accent of his, he'd probably be perfect for this mission.' Xavier nodded, as if this wasn't what he'd been leading up to.

'You can brief him in flight.' He said, and then slid a false ID across the desk. 'Here's a card for Remy.' Scott stood.

'Tell him to meet me at the hangar.' He said, and Xavier, eyes closed, simply nodded.

Kate Lockley had been politely unhelpful. She was clearly deeply resentful at the system of which she was no longer a part. However, she had told them that the full story could be best obtained by interviewing a local private investigator named Angel. He could be found, she told them, at a disused hotel, called the Hyperion. She even gave them his phone number.

The phone was picked up by the most English-sounding Englishman Veronica had ever talked to. She had managed to avoid making any mention of her job and aims, while asking for directions to the place.

She had scribbled down the instructions in her usual massive, untidy scrawl, and Lucas was having an extremely difficult time deciphering them. Veronica, sat beside him, had managed to strip down her gun into a newspaper held on her lap, and was now rebuilding it.

'You think it's dangerous.' He said.

'No.'

'Then why?'

'English people make me nervous.' She told him, snapping pieces back into position.

'He can't really be English.' He pointed out.

'Why not?'

'How would a British citizen qualify for a licence in California?'

'He could be naturalised.'

'He moves to California.' Lucas sounded slightly amused. 'He stays long enough to qualify for American citizenship, by which time he's still young enough to join an appropriate law enforcement department. Then he retires, and sets up as a private investigator, earning enough money to buy himself a disused hotel. In all this time, he has not picked up the faintest trace of normal speech patterns?'

She slid the magazine home, and racked the weapon's slide. For some reason she always insisted on carrying it cocked. He wasn't going to argue; she was better with a gun than he was, and he'd been considered no slouch back in the Corps.

Scott had landed the blackbird with the maximum of discretion, nearly thirty miles from their destination. They were met by a tired-looking man with greying hair, who handed over the key to a rental car and said as little as possible. No introductions were made on either side; Scott locked down the Blackbird, and then insisted that Remy drive them to the prison, as he'd been up most of the night piloting.

Remy was not happy about this; he never felt comfortable in a suit, Scott had made him go back and shave for a second time that morning, and every time he pushed the vehicle above sixty-five the other man woke up and ordered him to slow down. It didn't help that he'd missed the faculty's annual Monty Python movie marathon night to come on this mission. Also, being anywhere near prisons made him edgy.

After twenty minutes he asked who it was had met them.

'Mutant Underground.' Scott replied, and turned his head sideways, appearing to be asleep behind his visor.

When they arrived they presented themselves and their credentials as Special Agent William Holland and Special Agent Avery Broussard, both of the FBI, and were granted access to the girl.

Seven o'clock in the morning. What do you want to do today?

Faith's morning began like any other; get up with the lights, shower, breakfast, all maintaining her carefully intimidating air that, coupled with her reputation, discouraged anyone from coming within fifteen feet of her, then back to her cell where she planned to practice tai chi chuan until lunch.

After a couple of hours, the guards turned up and announced that the feds wanted to talk to her.

The two guys shown into the meeting room looked almost like a birthday present; both were tall, lean and gorgeous. They were dressed identically, in black suits and wrap-around shades, but otherwise were quite dissimilar. Spook one had short brown hair and the shoulders of a body builder. His jaw line was grim, his bearing stern. He stood and moved like a soldier. His shades, incongruously, had red lenses. His companion was slimmer, built wiry, and with a narrow, beautiful face of indeterminate ethnicity framed by dark red-brown hair that was almost – but not quite – long enough for a ponytail. Even standing still, he looked like he was dancing. He also looked a lot younger than his companion, barely into his twenties at the oldest. When he saw her he gave her a charming smile. Faith scowled back. She didn't feel like being charmed.

'Agent Holland, and this is agent Broussard.' The older man told her, then, despite the shades, managed an extremely forceful glare at the guards beside her, who both got up and left.

'So... what do you guys want?' Holland placed a file on the table, and then opened it. He removed a single sheet of paper, and held it out to her. Faith snatched it from his hands and glanced at it.

It was a coroner's report on Alan Finch.

As the piece of paper dropped from her hand, Holland spoke up.

'A sharpened wooden object, just under two inches thick, forced cleanly through the breastbone in a single powerful movement. If you really did kill this man, as well as Professor Worth, you must be exceptionally strong.' She looked up at them. He had removed two more documents from the file, and now held them up for her to see. They looked like complicated medical reports. Her name appeared at the top of both. 'In one week you made a complete physical recovery from injuries that should have been absolutely impossible to heal. It appears that you are a remarkably gifted young woman, Miss Wilkins.'

'Yeah?' She answered. 'Is this the part where you tell me you represent the most covert anti-terrorist task force in the world?'

Broussard leaned forward, and took off his shades. Behind them, his eyes were glowing red dots in pools of blackness. Even with that, he was beautiful, and the more so when he smiled.

''S funny you should say dat.' He told her.

The lobby of Angel Investigations was large, impressive – and empty.

'Hello?' Veronica called. There was a faint sound from upstairs, as of someone running barefoot over a threadbare carpet. Lucas dropped a hand to rest on his hip, just above his gun butt.

'May I help you?' The speaker looked as if he had just emerged from the basement. A little above average height, lean built and casually, but neatly, dressed, probably the most noticeable thing about him was his accent – every bit as English as Veronica had described.

Moving his hand away from his gun, the big agent pulled instead his badge.

'Agent Bishop, and this is Agent Sawyer. Are you the owner of the agency?'

'Wesley Wyndham-Price. No, but I'm in charge. It's complicated.' He smiled, slightly nervously. 'If you're looking for Angel I'm afraid he's on sabbatical.'

'Maybe you can help us.' Bishop continued, ignoring Wesley's proffered hand. 'We're investigating a girl named Faith Wilkins.' They could see the Briton's expression slam closed.

'I'm afraid I don't know anything really helpful...' He began.

'I think you do.' Veronica interrupted from just behind him. He turned. 'According to the report filed just after her arrest she confessed to the assault, kidnap and torture of one W.W. Price, referred to by her as 'Wes'. Unfortunately, 'Wes' refused to give evidence or even a statement, and she was not charged.'

'I really don't see what interest . . .'

'How strong is she, Price.' Bishop rumbled, and the smaller man once again turned around.

'Stronger than you.' He said quietly, before cutting himself off abruptly.

'And her healing?'

'I really don't see what interest this is of yours, unless she's taken it into her head to escape.'

'And if we told you she had?'

'Then I'd be inclined to be a little more forthcoming, but she hasn't.'

They couldn't get any more out of him.

Faith asked for some time to think. The two mutants had given her the full pitch on the school, with Remy adding far more detail than Scott would have approved. As soon as they were alone he turned on the other man and demanded,

'What did you tell her all that for?'

'De p'tite has a right to know what she getting' into, ne?'

'And enough with the accent. Remy, you offered her a place. Without consulting me.'

'You were going to take her. Remy, he could tell that de moment she came in.'

'What makes you so sure?'

'Summers, you never been able to resist dat kind of look. Faith, she look like something died inside.' Off the older man's look, he added, 'It worked for me.'

'You're right.' Scott conceded. 'I think the school would be the best place for her. But it's her choice, and suddenly she knows enough to make her refusing a really bad idea for us.'

'She ain't de talkative type.' Scott looked at him for a moment, and then glanced up as Faith was led back into the room.

'I still say I'm not a mutant.' She told them.

'It doesn't matter.' Scott told her. 'We've got several nonmutants at the school already, although all of them have mutant relatives.' Siblings, to be exact.

'So you want to give me a free education, a place to stay, no strings attached.'

'On a probationary status. Faith, I appreciate that you're probably a reformed character, but one violent incident – just one – and your feet won't touch the floor on the way out, I promise you that.'

'What's in it for you?'

'De pleasure of your company?' Suggested Remy.

'I asked the same thing, once.' Scott overrode him. 'In my case, I ended up teaching at the institute and serving on the field team, and that's what the Professor got from me. From most of his pupils, though?' She was staring at him. 'Charles Xavier is perhaps the single most remarkable man it has ever been my privilege to meet. He is a true philanthropist, and he genuinely wants only to help people. Meaning you and me. As to what I get out of it? I don't know yet.'

Faith looked from one man to the other.

'Wasn't it a mutant tried to kill the President a couple months back?'

'Wasn't it a white guy shot the President, back in 1963?' Replied Scott. 'Does that mean you have a problem with white people?' She laughed.

'Okay, I deserved that. I've been thinking I'd do more good out there than in here, anyway.'

Early afternoon. Wesley would not have come back to the Hyperion, except that he had needed to check a reference in one of Angel's volumes. His research finished, he descended the stairs to find FBI Agent Sawyer was back.

'Have you discovered some cunning new argument?' He inquired, looking down at the young woman – about his own age, slim, trim and pretty, with short black hair and a worried expression. She looked back up at him. 'I see you decided to leave the more intimidating face of government harassment behind.' He went on.

'He's doing paperwork at the prison.' She responded. 'At around half past eleven this morning two men with fake names, fake FBI ID and a fake pardon walked out of California State Women's Penitentiary accompanied by one Faith Wilkins. She'd been released into their custody, and the paper trail for that is already a dead end. We need to know who took her, and why, and we need to know fast.'

Wesley already had his cellphone in his hand. Descending the stairs he hit the speed dial button.

'I'll call the rest of the team.' He told her. 'I need everything you've got on the two men who took her.'

'Cyclops and Gambit report that she's accompanying them.' Xavier told Lucas over the phone.

'Sawyer is going to investigate.' He was told. 'I can't stonewall too obviously.'

'Do you have any suggestions?'

'She is open-minded. It might be best to simply . . .'

'No. The more people know our secrets, the more we have to fear.'

'Very well. But left to herself, she may at the very least discover my links to the Mutant Underground.'

'For the moment, that's a risk you'll have to take, Bishop.'


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

Faith was certain that Xavier's was the biggest privately owned building she had ever seen. The place was massive, and empty.

Agent Holland – who was actually called Scott Summers – had dropped her and Broussard – Remy LeBeau – in the grounds, about a mile from the main building. The two men had spent the entire trip sitting in the cockpit, Scott focussing on piloting and Remy sleeping, sprawled across his seat with the grace of a particularly lazy cat. The short walk to the mansion was therefore her first real opportunity to find out about her new home. 

'How long have you been here?' She asked the tall mutant.

''Bout t'ree months.'

'So how many kids are there?'

'About t'ree, four dozen. Most o' dem don't like to be called kids. Gambit be one o' de eldest, but not by much.'

'And they're all mutants?'

'For de most part. Sometime, a normal person come here wit' dere brother or sister, but not often.' He glanced at her. 'What's de matter, p'tite?' She glared at him. Although she was six inches shorter than him and Remy possessed the kind of confidence that came from never having been pushed to his limits, he found himself taking a step back.

'Three things are the matter, _Gambit_. One, your attitude. Two, your accent, and three, don't call me petite. _Comprehend?'_

'Apologies. This thief, he likes people to underestimate him.' He smiled endearingly. 'But what should I call you, then?'

'Faith.' She snarled, and stalked towards the mansion, managing, despite her shorter legs, a pace that had her companion running to keep up.

The best thing about living at Xavier's, Jubilation Lee had long ago realised, was the holidays, when it was just her and half-a-dozen others who had nowhere else to go, and they pretty much had the run of the place. Oh, there were chores and rules still, but otherwise they were free to do as they pleased, so it seemed to her utterly insane that what one of her newest friends pleased was to lock herself in her room and mope.

Jubilee had banged on Rogue's door continuously for over a minute before the older girl had responded, yelling at her to go away. After a brief impasse she had resorted to picking the lock and yelling her into action, which was how the two of them came to be headed downstairs towards the garage when the front door opened and Remy ushered Faith inside.

Rogue was quick to judge people on first impressions, and usually correct in her assumptions, while Jubilee tended to spend longer evaluating them – she didn't trust anyone easily, still didn't trust the staff of the school at which she had spent the last eighteen months of her life. Had they paid attention to Faith both of them would have felt a strong urge to befriend the older girl, whose appearance and body language practically screamed 'shat on by the planet and working a tough-girl façade' to anyone with their experiences. However, since Faith was accompanied by Gambit neither of them did more than glance at her, before returning their attention to the star attraction. Rogue flinched and moved slightly back, almost unconsciously putting Jubilee between her and the Cajun. Jubilee simply put on her friendliest, least lust-addled grin and worked very hard at maintaining the expression in the face of Remy LeBeau wearing an extremely rumpled suit.

Below them, Gambit pointed his charge to the Professor's office, and then looked up to see two of the mansion's most fascinating pieces of jailbait staring down at him.

'Ladies.' He saluted them with a smile. 'Goin' somewhere?'

'Mall.' Jubilee managed, without stuttering or drooling. Below them Remy struggled to keep from laughing out loud. He'd long-since become accustomed to his effect on the more hormonal members of both genders, and in his easy-going, good-natured, way, had taken to using it to his own advantage.

'Y' want to do Gambit a favour?' He asked pleasantly.

Inside the study Faith found herself facing a lean, impressive-looking bald man who was seated behind a large desk. It took her a moment to realise that said desk was slightly higher and wider than normal in order to fit over the wheelchair in which he sat. Standing behind him was...

'Cookie Monster?' She whispered in astonishment. She was rewarded by the biggest, toothiest grin she had ever seen.

'I am Professor Charles Xavier.' The guy behind the desk told her. 'This my assistant, Dr Henry McCoy.'

'Hey.' She muttered.

'Greetings and salutations, dear lady. Please, call me Hank.' Declared the big blue guy, leaning forwards and extending what was, under the fur, the longest, brawniest arm she could remember seeing. When she shook his hand, she pushed slightly, felt the give, and without exerting she could tell that she was stronger than him. He realised it too, and his eyes widened slightly.

'Henry?' The bald guy said, and he looked round.

'My most heartfelt apologies for my distraction, Professor. I was simply sidetracked by the strength that our guest was displaying.'

'Yeah. I get that a lot.' Faith said. 'So . . . You're a mutant, right?'

'Indeed.' If he had fewer fangs, his expression could have been described as 'beaming'.

'Most of us here are.' The Professor interjected.

'I'm not.' Said Faith.

'How, then, would you explain your remarkable physiological capabilities?' Hank asked her.

'You wouldn't begin to believe me.' She replied.

'Try us.'

'I'm the mystical avatar of an ancient power put on this Earth to defend humanity against the forces of darkness.'

'It does seem somewhat implausible . . .' Hank said mildly.

'Yeah, that's pretty much what I said.'

'We can, however, perform certain straightforward procedures that will appraise both the extent and the origin of your abnormal abilities.' Hank told her.

'Whatever the results, and even if you choose not to allow yourself to be tested, you are welcome here.' The Professor went on. 'I would add that this is conditional on your attending classes at least until you graduate high school, and on you not harming any of your fellow students.'

'High school? Kind of old for that, aren't I?' All this was slightly overwhelming. Twenty-four hours ago she'd never knowingly met a mutant before in her life, and now she was in a room with two of them, both clearly a lot more intelligent than she is, having been flown there by two more, both of those extremely good-looking.

'Don't worry. Many of our students have been on their own for a while before they come here, and start off a little behind academically. There's something else we need to discuss, though, Faith. I don't know if you are aware of this, but . . .'

'She's a millionaire.' Agent Sawyer was working on her partner's laptop.

'What?' Bishop was re-reading Faith's confession.

'Her accounts have been activated.'

'Where from?' He rumbled.

'New York. There was a credit card issued there two hours ago. The girl now has access to all the funds she could need – which means presumably so does whoever she's with.' Further discussion was interrupted by the reappearance of Wesley, accompanied by a tall, shaven-headed black man and a slim young brunette.

'Agents,' he began, 'these are my associates, Charles Gunn and Cordelia Chase. These are agents Sawyer and Bishop.'

'Pleasure, man.' Gunn shook hands with them, nodding his head to Lucas and smiling at Veronica.

'Hi.' Said Cordelia. 'Wesley says Faith's loose.' Lucas nodded.

'What can you tell us about her?'

'Psychoslut? Likes include killing people, leather, promiscuity and violence. Dislikes include me, Wesley, and pretty much every other human being on the planet, although she may have had a thing for Buffy back before the coma.'

'Buffy?' Asked Veronica. Wesley was shaking his head and making furious faces at the younger woman.

'Uh, just this girl I was at school with. No real story there.'

'But she knows Faith?'

'She knew her. And a month ago I would have immediately recommended calling her to help track Faith down.' Wesley paused, clearly uncomfortable. 'Unfortunately, she, she died.'

'I'm sorry.' Veronica said, and it was clear that she meant it. There was a moments silence, and then...

'We may have a location for Faith.' Lucas told them.

'Where?' Asked Wesley.

'New York State.'

'Sounds like we don't have a problem, then.' Commented Gunn. Everyone turned to look at him. 'What? So this chick with a grudge going for Angel has relocated to several thousand miles away. Sounds like good news, right?'

'Gunn, you've never met Faith. She's unpredictable, and very dangerous. Wherever she goes, she will wreak havoc.'

'Okay, I get that. But if she's gone to New York, how is she our problem?' He shrugged, and then turned towards the stairs. 'Just asking is all.' He vanished into the depths of the hotel.

'Well, that was helpful.' Cordelia pointed out. 'You were saying?' This to Veronica.

'We were hoping you could help us narrow it down a little.' For some reason Cordelia seemed slightly disturbed at that.

'How would I be any help?'

'You know her. Did you say you were at school with her?'

'Yeah, like Little Miss Killing Spree ever actually went to school? No, I got knocked unconscious by her once. If you're really that interested, I'll fill you in on how much fun that wasn't. I never spent much time with her, though. Ask Wesley, he was her Watcher.'

'Her what?' All eyes were now on the Englishman.

'A sort of . . . supervisor. It was my job to try and keep Faith out of trouble. I think we're all well aware of just how successful I was at that.'

'Well, congratulations. You are now our official expert and source on Faith Wilkins. Feel like a trip to New York?'

Faith emerged from Xavier's office with an appointment for examination and evaluation the following morning, and also with her very own credit card.

Gambit was waiting outside with two girls.

'Faith, Remy would like you to meet two of his dearest friends. Dis is Rogue.' A slim, shy-looking girl with a white streak in her hair, seventeen trying for twelve. There was nervousness in her manner belied by the strength in her eyes. For some reason she was wearing opera gloves and military dogtags.

'Hi.' She said, nervousness evident here as well. She had a trace of a Southern accent.

'And . . .' Remy attempted to continue, but was interrupted.

'Jubilation Lee, Jubilee, great to meet ya, chica.' Short, loud, annoying, sixteen with the eyes of a thirty-year-old, the girl in the yellow trenchcoat seemed to be taking adolescence to an extreme. As a past master of the tough façade and behavioural smokescreen herself Faith could tell there was a lot more to both of these girls than met the eye.

'De girls have agreed to take you into town wit' dem.' Gambit went on. She looked at him.

'Yeah?' She asked. 'What for?'

'You goin' to live in dose clothes?'

'So,' Jubilee asked ten minutes later, leaning forward between the front seats. 'Where'd they dig you up from?'

'Prison.' Faith said shortly. Rogue was driving. From what she had seen so far, Rogue drove extremely well, and also extremely cautiously. 'Northern California Women's Facility, Stockton.'

'Cool.'

'What were you in for?' Rogue asked. She didn't seem to talk much, but then, as Faith had noticed in the preceding few minutes, no one did when Jubilee was around.

'Murder two.' She was doing an extremely good impression of nonchalance.

'And they just swept in and pulled you outta there?'

'They asked me if I wanted to go. I wasn't doing any good where I was. There were precisely two reasons why I turned myself in, and one of them died and the other one – stopped visiting just after.'

'Oh. Well, I guess . . . sucked to be you, huh?'

'Briefly, yeah. Things are looking up, though. Hey, you share a house with him, what kind of a guy is Remy?'

'Oh, he's just like any other man, only more so.' Jubilee told her. Rogue, for some reason, giggled.

'You mean untrustworthy scum only out to get laid?' Faith asked conversationally.

'Yep, that sounds like Gambit to me. 'Cept he says we're jailbait.'

'We are jailbait, Jubes.' Rogue pointed out.

'So is he, practically.'

'So, uh, what about the other students? 'Cause you two can't be it.'

'It's the holidays. They've all gone home.'

'So why . . .'

'The mansion is home.' Jubilee cut her off. Faith nodded to herself.

When Scott reached the Professor's office Hank had already headed back to the lab to go over the new girl's existing medical records.

'Faith.' Xavier began as Scott, slightly awkwardly as ever, sat down.

'I take it you've met her?'

'Yes. Obviously you thought well enough of her to offer a place here, but I'd like you to tell me the details. What impression did she make on you?'

'She's been hurt by the world. A lot, and not just because of her powers. I got the impression she's had a bad life, and when her powers manifested things just got worse.'

'The fact that she admits to having been a professional killer doesn't worry you?'

'She worked for Wilkins. He adopted her. That, to me, suggests . . .' He trailed off.

'What, exactly, do you think their relationship was?'

'She saw him as a father. She still does, though she also admits that he was using her. She told us, and I quote, 'at least he was honest about it'. I also got the impression that he's probably the only man she can remember helping her without wanting her sexually.' He paused. 'Their relationship bears close comparison to ours.' Xavier raised an eyebrow at that.

'Should I be offended?'

'Professor, she needs our help – or somebody's help. You took me in and cared for me and, though you expected my help in return, you didn't demand it. You let me choose. Faith – had a similar arrangement with the mayor of Sunnydale. I think if we can help her, and convince her that there's no obligation in return – one day she may choose to become an extremely valuable member of the team. In the meantime, we can help her.'

'Do you really think she's that much of a team player, Scott?' Xavier was surprised; normally Scott's judgement was second to none, but Faith had struck him – on admittedly very brief acquaintance – as even more ferociously independent than Wolverine.

'Not yet. She needs to learn to trust us first.'

The Professor, nodding, was about to reply, when he was interrupted by the telephone. Glancing at the caller ID, he gestured, and Scott rose and left the room.

'Xavier.'

'Xavier, you've made a serious error. Did you imagine that we would not watch the girl's bank accounts?'

'The credit cards?'

'I'm just assembling our equipment before going to the airport. We're coming to New York to look for the girl, and we're bringing a couple of old acquaintances of hers along with us. A Wesley Wyndham-Price and a Cordelia Chase.'

' ... Those names sound familiar.'

'Price is the man she confessed to torturing. He won't talk about it.'

'Can't you delay them somehow?'

'Professor, Sawyer is twice as intelligent as me, and Price and Chase are acting as if Wilkins' escape is the end of the world. Price maintains that if she refuses to come into custody with us, we stand no chance of apprehending her. He and Chase also both insist that she is not a mutant, although they will not say what they believe her to be.'

'The mystical avatar of an ancient power?' Suggested Xavier.

'Excuse me?'

'It's nothing, Bishop. I'll . . . see what I can do. If necessary, I'll assert influence at higher levels to have you both reassigned.'

'I do not think Price and Chase are going to forget easily. Or at all.'


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three 

'I like it.' Said Jubilee. 'It's very... tight. Slutty.' She smiled. Faith twisted smoothly and feinted a high kick, causing the brand new leather pants she was wearing to creak alarmingly.

'Need breaking in.' She said, and then glanced over to where Rogue was stroking one half of a particularly nice pair of suede gloves. 'She got a glove fetish, or something?' She asked, only slightly more quietly.

'Rogue's skin kills people. She's got, like, the worst mutation on the planet.' The shorter girl whispered.

'So what happens when she does touch someone?'

'They pass out, go into a coma, and die.' Jubilee told her soberly.

'Shit.' Faith muttered.

'Yeah, I know. We try not to talk about what she's missing.'

'Can't touch at all?'

'Any kind of skin to skin contact, but I get a couple seconds first.' Rogue had somehow come up behind them without either of them hearing her. 'I drain your energy. Powers, strengths, memories, talents – and then you die and I'm stuck with you in my head.'

'Jeez, Stripe, less of the sneaking.' Faith told her, startled.

'You gonna buy those pants?'

'Yeah. You want some?'

'Go for it, Rogue. You've got the legs for 'em.' Jubilee grinned.

'So . . . you wear a lot of leather?' Rogue asked half an hour later as they ate a slightly early supper. Her new trousers were chafing a little.

'Or didja just buy five brand new pairs of leather pants 'cause your new-found wealth is going to your head?' Faith smiled along with the other two, and then frowned.

'Wealth.' She muttered to herself. She'd inherited the money off the Mayor, because she had let him down. He'd left it to her because she'd turned evil. It had come – at least in part – from his crooked dealings in Sunnydale. It was blood money.

But hey, it was still money, and it wasn't like she was going to use it for evil.

'What about sex?' She asked Rogue suddenly.

'Like I said, I only get a couple of seconds.'

'Yeah, I got that. But those look like wicked fine gloves you're wearing. Give your boyfriend a pair, buy a pack of rubbers and some split-crotch pantyhose, and enjoy hours of kinky fun.'

'Uh...' Rogue blushed. She wasn't sure how to react to this.

'Sorry if I embarrass you, Stripe. It's just, you remind me of this guy I know.'

'How do you mean?' Rogue was intrigued, despite herself.

'If he ever has sex he'll go schizoid and turn into a crazed psycho killer in leather.' Faith explained. 'Which isn't quite the same, but it's fairly close. He's scared of getting close to people.' Rogue's interest subsided; nothing that could help her. Jubilee's didn't.

'So how'd you find that out?'

'Apparently it happened once, before I got into town.' Faith shrugged. 'Not my story.' She really didn't think these two girls were ready for the whole 'chosen one' spiel. 'Never thought it could suck to have super powers.'

'Yeah.' Said Jubilee. 'You ever wonder what you'd be like without?'

'No.' For different reasons, neither Faith nor Rogue wanted to go any further with that.

'Luke. Wake up!' Veronica was prodding him.

'Lucas.' Bishop mumbled, coming awake. 'How long?'

'There's another two hours until we land.' His partner told him, and then lifted herself in her seat and craned back to look along the length of the plane to where their new companions sat, side by side. Wesley had his headphones in, and Cordelia was asleep and drooling on his shoulder. 'Listen, I did some checking up.'

Bishop glanced at the screen of her laptop. She had at least a dozen windows open.

'How did you manage that without access to the database?' He asked.

'Something Chase said rang a bell. I went back over some of my old case files.' She brought up a window.

'Sunnydale? That was never a case of yours.'

'This is a list of pupils graduating in the class of '99. The ones highlighted in red were confirmed dead over the course of that year, the ones highlighted in blue are still missing, two years on.' There was a lot of red and blue on the list. 'Almost none of these were ever solved.'

'What colour is Chase?'

'Neither.' She pointed to the girl's name on the list. 'Now, if you remember, she mentioned an individual named Buffy as an old associate of Faith Wilkins.' She scrolled down, and pointed to another name.

'Buffy Summers.' Read off Bishop. 'What do you have?'

'Not much.' She admitted. 'However, here –' she brought up another window. '– We have a selection of witness statements taken in the aftermath of the explosion. Most of them weren't much help; none of them were ever acted upon. Look at this one here, Aphrodisia Carter.'

Bishop read silently for a few moments, but was interrupted by Veronica.

'"... and Cordelia was still going on about the graduation robes being the wrong colour, but what would she know, all the time she spends hanging out with that psycho Summers? Did you hear she was wanted for murder once?" I actually did some checking there. A Buffy Anne Summers was briefly wanted for the murder of a still-unidentified teenage girl in 1998, but all charges were dropped.'

'So Chase was a friend of Summers who was a friend of Wilkins.' Bishop said thoughtfully.

'It gets better.' She went on. 'In 1998, shortly after the murder, the librarian of Sunnydale High, one Rupert Giles, checked in to the hospital. He had broken bones, burns and lacerations, all of which had clearly been done to him over a period of some hours. He'd been tortured, rather brutally. This would seem irrelevant, except that the dead girl was found in the Sunnydale High library, which was reported to be a favourite hang-out of the prime suspect, Buffy Summers.'

'A possible connection?'

'Here comes the best part. You're never going to guess which part of Sunnydale High the explosion centred on?'

'You think Chase had something to do with the destruction of her own High School?'

'Briefly? Yes.'

'Sawyer, has it occurred to you that this obsession of yours could be dangerous?'

'I'm not obsessed.' She was glaring at him. He held eye contact for a moment, and then reached under his seat for his own briefcase. He removed an old file.

'1988.' He read out. 'Westerburg, Ohio. A series of incidents in Westerburg High school culminates in three incidents comprising the suicides of four pupils. All of them known associates of one Veronica Sawyer, also briefly rumoured to have killed herself.'

'Where did you find that?'

'I checked up on you.' He was unapologetic. 'It seemed sensible to me to find out your motivations.'

'This has nothing to do with . . .'

'Sawyer, you watched your boyfriend blow himself in half on the front steps of your high school, after laying dynamite charges below the main building, and you expect me to accept that this has no link to your current obsession with similar incidents in other schools?' She was glaring at him once again. 'Sawyer, there are over a hundred names on that list you've got there. Probably two-thirds of them could be somehow connected to the explosion that, if I remember from your files, was concluded to be due to a leaking gas main in the caves under the school. The central point of the explosion may have been the library, but it was also very definitely the epicentre of a recent earthquake.'

'Two years isn't recent.'

'It's two years since this case was closed. It was a tragic accident that killed a number of innocent teenagers and a corrupt local politician. It just so happens that two of the people involved in our current case are peripherally linked to this accident. That is all.'

'She looks kinda cute when she's asleep.' Jubilee was turned around in the front passenger seat of the car.

'You used to live on the streets, didn't you?' Rogue asked her.

'For just over a year.' The younger girl replied. 'Hey, you hitch-hiked from Rednecksville to Canada, remember.'

'Yeah, but you lived on the streets in a big city.'

'It wasn't so bad.' Jubilee told her. 'There was this gang leader, Gunn, used to look out for the kids in his neighbourhood. He was a good guy, when he wasn't on one of his crusades.'

'Crusades?'

'Yeah. Against – other gangs. He could be kind of ruthless. He gave me some tips in dirty fighting a couple of times. I was friends with his sister. Then Cyke and Bobby came to town and asked me to head east. I was kinda reluctant, but Alonna reckoned it had to be a step up.'

'Did they know you were a mutant?'

'Gunn and Alonna? Yeah. They were cool with it, but we didn't bandy the fact around.'

Rogue paused.

'Jubilee?'

'Yeah?'

'Did you ever hear of any . . . weird stuff back then?'

'What makes you ask that?'

'Faith says she isn't a mutant.'

'So she's swimming in the Egyptian river. In denial.'

'What if she isn't?' Erik and Logan both have memories, she could have gone on. Parasites with twisted faces and a terror of the sun. Monsters neither mutant nor human. She didn't, though.

She'd known Jubilee more than three months, and she still didn't know if she'd be laughed at.

When they woke Faith up for the official evening meal of the mansion, she seemed as refreshed by the one-hour nap as most people would be by a full night's sleep. Carrying two hundred pounds of shopping bags without apparent effort, she followed the other two into the mansion, where she stopped dead.

'Rogue?' She said.

'Yeah?' The younger girl replied.

'Did I just see a blue-skinned demon with yellow eyes walk into the kitchen?' Jubilee giggled.

'That's just Nightcrawler.' Faith was told, before Jubilee interrupted.

'Yo, Kurt! Get your fuzzy blue butt out here and say hi!' The kitchen door was pulled open once more, and the pointy-eared face of Kurt Wagner peered around.

Faith used to kill things similar to this, with great frequency and enthusiasm. There had been blue demons, and black-haired demons, and demons with yellow eyes, and demons with tails, and demons with ritual scarring on their faces, and at least two demons who had worn chinos and button-down shirts. There hadn't been any that combined all of these factors. There hadn't been any who had bowed low in greeting and introduced themselves politely.

It had never before occurred to Faith that a German accent might be considered sexy.

'So you're a mutant?'

'Indeed.' Kurt had long ago given up on reassuring smiles; having inch-long fangs tended to ruin the intended effect. Instead, he ducked his head diffidently, before looking back up at her. 'And you are the latest charming addition to our little group, fraulein…?'

'Faith.' She replied. 'Yeah. Just flew in this afternoon.' He was holding out one hand. On it there were only two long, thick fingers and a thumb. Slightly awkwardly, she reached out to shake; to her surprise, he bowed instead, kissing the back of her hand. As he did so she could see, behind him, Scott Summers stepping out of the kitchen. He was wearing a white apron and holding a wooden spoon.

'Chicken casserole.' He said, somewhat nonsensically.

'Thanks.' Put in Rogue. 'But we ate at the mall.' Kurt, his back safely to the leader of the X-Men, smirked very slightly.

'Need anything, we'll be in the TV room.' Jubilee put in. 'Introducing Faith to _Velvet Goldmine_.' 

'Okay.' Mr Summers replied, and stepped back. 'I… don't think we'll need anything.'

'Delightful though it would be, I am afraid I will not be joining you.' Kurt bowed again, and stepped back. 'The duties of an X-Man, alas, take precedence.' He spun on his heel, and returned to the kitchen.

'If he wasn't blue he'd be kind of cute.' Faith commented.

'He is blue, and he's very cute.' Jubilee replied, steering her towards the TV room.

'Kinda short, though.' Rogue put in.

'What was all that crap about duty?'

'He's gotta go eat with the team.'

'I could have gone for some more food.' Faith said as Jubilee closed the door behind them.

'Not Cyke's chicken casserole. That should be a punishment.' The shorter girl told her. 'So, I guess if you've been in prison you've never seen…'

'Screw movies.' Faith said. 'I've been locked up with a movie a week for the last year. Let's go to New York.'

'It's an hour and a half away.' Rogue pointed out.

'Not if you let me drive.' Interrupted Jubilee. 'Where d'ya have in mind, Faith?'

'I know this club.' Faith grinned. Of course, she'd last been in the city three years previously, on her way west, but she had an instinct for finding these places.

'We've got a curfew in four hours.' Rogue pointed out.

'Rogue.' She was told. 'We are going to town, we are going to have fun, and you are going to wear those new pants Faith got you.' Rogue looked from one girl to the other.

'Just 'cause you're too young to get laid doesn't mean you can't inspire lust in everyone else in the place.' Faith told her, grin wider than ever.

She was beginning to like it here.

If there was one thing the men of the X-mansion all agreed on, it was engines.

Of course, Scott led the field. Since Jean's death, he had spent all his spare time tinkering with the Blackbird, when he wasn't busy customising a new motorcycle to travel at speeds that would have given Steve McQueen a heart attack. Hank and Remy did their parts as well, though; Hank restored classic American cars, while Remy liked to play with a motorcycle of his own.

Because he was unashamedly, undilutedly macho, his was a Harley-Davidson.

He was crouched down beside it, peering at a strangely shaped fragment of metal that had just dropped into the oil pan, when the girls of the X-Mansion clattered in.

Rogue, he noticed, was wearing skin-tight leather.

Remy shot upright, dropping his spanner and snatching a rag. Wiping his hands, he stared at the three young women, who stared back. This was no surprise to him; he knew he was attractive, and in his current combination of tight jeans and a hacked-off T-Shirt he could be accurately described as 'Tasty'.

'Tasty.' Said Faith, smiling at him. He smiled back. Faith was wearing a tank top, leather pants, and a leather jacket, he noticed.

'Could say de same about you, Fait'.' He drawled. Behind her Jubilee, wearing a dress only millimetres away from illegality, pouted, and he added, 'All t'ree of you.'

Faith grinned, looking like a shark with sex appeal.

'You're not that lucky, French boy.' She told him, and moved towards the car they had used earlier. Jubilee grabbed her sleeve.

'We're taking the jeep.' She said.

'I'm not a jeep kinda girl.' Faith argued.

'This is Scott's jeep.' Jubilee was insistent.

'So?'

Jubilee grinned. Behind them Gambit was persuading Rogue to allow him to 'tag along'. He grabbed his trenchcoat and climbed into the back of the vehicle.

Thirty seconds later Faith found out what was so special about Scott's jeep, and why Rogue had been so reluctant to let Jubilee drive.

They were doing eighty. And that was before they reached the gates.


	5. Chapter Four

Author's Note: This chapter is mostly unchanged, with just a little more dialogue at the end. I think this was the last chapter of the original version that I actually liked. 

For those of you confused as to the origins of various characters – everyone is from either 'Angel/Buffy the Vampire Slayer' or 'X-Men' (although as is the way of the Movieverse, the X-Men characters have somewhat altered backgrounds), except Veronica Sawyer, of whom I will say that 'Heathers' is absolutely the best High School black comedy ever. If for some reason or another you can't go to the source materials, E-mail me with your questions.

Chapter Four 

The music was loud, the lighting dim and erratic, the dance floor crowded. It wasn't the place Faith had remembered from three years previously, which had since closed down, but it was like enough as to be almost indistinguishable. She had an instinct for these places.

Against one wall, Rogue and Gambit stood, watching as Faith and Jubilee flung themselves about the dance floor with only marginally disparate levels of enthusiasm but vastly different styles. Faith oozed cheap lust, her every movement seeming to promise sex. Jubilee was simply having fun, fast and noisy, and somehow attracting almost as many would-be partners as the older girl.

Remy, under normal circumstances, would have been out there, but he couldn't just abandon Rogue. He made a couple of attempts to make conversation, but their voices were drowned out by the music and in the end he settled for simply gesturing towards the floor and gently but insistently pulling Rogue on to dance, rather less frenetically that their friends.

Breaking off the dance Faith looked round, seeming for a moment to scan the room, and then grabbed Jubilee's arm and headed for the bar, dragging her companion after her.

'Two beers.' She yelled at the bartender. 'They're paying.' She gestured at the two young men she had arrived next to, who looked up at this. One of them grinned at her, and then pulled out his wallet. Faith leered back.

Jubilee sipped her beer and glanced at the two guys. She hadn't needed them in a while, but the Asian teenager normally had good instincts, and right now they were screaming at her that something was wrong in a way not seen since LA and Gunn's neverending war.

'Faith.' She tried to whisper, wondering if the girl had any idea. She had no idea how to explain what she was trying to say, except that everything about these two men added up wrong.

Even here the noise precluded all but the briefest of conversations, but that's what Faith managed to have with the two guys. After a few minutes she stood up, finished her beer, and grabbed Jubilee's arm to drag her towards the back of the club.

Across the room, Remy spotted this, and gave Rogue an inquisitive look. She shrugged, and then her eyes widened and she pointed to the two men who were now following their friends across the dance floor. Their movements were purposeful, their faces lustful. Gambit pulled her off the floor, and they began working their way around the edge of the club.

Charles Xavier spent the evening in his study, reading.

He was close to seventy years old, though he wore his years exceptionally well, and in the course of his life he had travelled all over the world. He had lost the use of his legs in the Korean War, while still a young man (and he still sent a Christmas card every year, without fail, to the now long retired doctor who had saved his life. Whenever Xavier had reason to visit Maine he made a point of meeting up with the man), and had taken a long convalescence in Europe and North Africa. His travels had ended in Israel, where he had met the man who would one day become known as Magneto, but before then he had seen many remarkable sights. Although crippled, his unequalled telepathic abilities had let him experience far more of the world than an ordinary traveller.

Then, one day, he had seen a man who was not there.

Xavier's powers gave him an awareness of the presence of everyone around him, everyone within a radius of several miles, without his ever needing to think about it. As he looked at the world his eyes and mind automatically correlated, confirming that this mind belonged to that body.

It had been in Rome that he saw a man with his eyes who did not exist to his mind, moving through the tourists and residents like a predator. He had hurriedly steered his chair to follow, intent on asking what the man was, only to find himself trapped in an alleyway with a creature of legend and nightmare.

He survived because of the vampire's instinctual sadism, its desire to play with its meal. It prevented him from screaming for help, but could do nothing to stop him from calling with his mind. He was rescued by a young priest, who drove his attacker away with his crucifix and a phial of Holy Water, and then attempted to persuade Xavier that he had been mistaken as to what his attacker had been. It hadn't worked, and the priest, a young servant of the Holy Office named Arturo Cava, had reluctantly explained a little of the secret side of the world to the young American with the remarkable power.

They had stayed in contact, Xavier's wealth serving to help those who fought the darkness where his powers could not, and their friendship had gradually settled into a casual intimacy. Xavier had followed his friend's career in the Holy Office from a distance, and Arturo had in return learned a little of his friend's work with mutants in America. The long-ago chance meeting between the eventual founder of the X-Men and the current Cardinal of the Inquisition was one of the main reasons for the Catholic church's acceptance of human mutancy as either a sign of divine favour or, in the case of disadvantageous mutations, a trial of faith.

It had also resulted in Xavier's personal library being used as a depository for various ancient texts of no immediate use but immense long-term value. Faith's half-joking attempt at explaining her abilities had reminded him of information encountered herein, and it was because of this that he went back over a small selection of these works, making notes and comparing the ancient accounts of magic and monsters to the medical terminology of the Mansion's recently returned resident biochemist and the files Bishop had sent him.

By the end of the evening he had decided that he and Faith really needed to have a talk, but that first of all he should call Arturo. Fortunately, by that time it was close to one in the morning, and with the time difference his old friend should have just been finishing breakfast.

Faith hauled Jubilee into the alleyway behind the club.

'Faith,' the mutant girl began.

'Hide.' Was the reply, as Faith shoved her towards a dumpster, simultaneously smashing her free hand through the side of an old wooden packing crate behind which a couple of the club's younger patrons were thrusting violently. Wrenching off a reasonably sharp length of wood, she shoved it under her jacket.

'Faith, listen. I don't think those dudes are human. Back in LA I saw . . .' Jubilee trailed off as she noticed the makeshift stake.

'I know.' Faith pushed her into cover as the two men emerged behind them.

'Where's your friend?' the shorter one asked, glancing round. Faith shrugged.

'Listen, I just suck at the banter thing, so can we cut to the part where you try to eat me and I kill you both?' Faces shifted as they moved forward, the spokesman edging to one side, trying to flank her.

'Little girl thinks she's the slayer.' He commented. Even round his fangs he managed to sound amused. Faith kicked him hard enough to break a couple of ribs and hurl him across the alley, and then spun back to deliver a backhand punch that broke several of his companion's teeth.

'Wrong.' She said, and set about doing what she did best.

Forcing a path through the crowd, Rogue and Gambit reached the exit almost a minute behind their friends. They emerged into a massive fight.

'Hey, guys.' Jubilee called from her seat atop the same dumpster behind which Faith had pushed her. 'Siddown and enjoy the show.'

In the main part of the alleyway Faith was taking her time about beating the ever-loving crap out of the men who had followed her out. The two mutants stared for a moment.

'Mon dieu.' Whispered Gambit, as Rogue gasped, 'Vampires!'

'Yep. Hop on up. Didja bring popcorn?' A short distance away Faith vaulted over one of her opponents and snapped his neck, and then began beating on the other. There was a look of raw pleasure on her face.

'Dat girl, she is enthusiastic, no?' Gambit commented.

'Yeah. Remind me not to piss her off.' The luckless demon flew across the alleyway to smash into the wall ten feet above the ground, sliding down it bonelessly. Faith pulled her makeshift stake from the back of her belt and finished his quadriplegic companion as she walked past.

'You're no fun any more.' She told the survivor, and then stabbed him. She turned, and smiled at her audience.

'Them vampires, me Slayer. Any other explanation can wait. I need something to eat. Let's go.'

They ended up in Burger King.

'So, uh, you know about vampires?' Jubilee asked Rogue once they were all sitting down.

'Uh-huh. Logan had some memories. There was this bar in Toronto, about ten years back . . .' She blushed. 'You?'

'Back in LA. They liked to prey on street kids. Gunn used to organise us against them. Always did pretty well, but I never saw anything like that.' Both girls turned to glance at Faith, who swallowed the last mouthful of her burger and looked up. 'How did you know they were vampires, chica?'

She shrugged. 'Slayer sense. Told you I wasn't a mutant. Killing vampires is my job.' She glanced at Gambit. 'You okay?'

The young mutant was staring at his three companions with a shell-shocked expression on his face.

'Remy heard de rumours.' He said quietly. 'But he never believed dem for a second.' He turned his gaze on her. 'Vampires are real?'

'Vamps, demons, werewolves, witches, zombies. I'll fill you in later. Right now I need to unwind. Let's go.' She stood up, yanking him along by a fistful of trenchcoat.

Their two companions, still eating, watched them walk out. Rogue made as if to follow.

'No rush, babe.' Jubilee told her, holding up the key to the jeep.

'Remy can hotwire it, can't he?'

'Ya think he'll leave us behind? He came along to keep an eye on us.'

A short time later the two young mutants finished their meals and headed out. They were back within a minute.

'So.' Said Jubilee.

'Yeah.' Rogue agreed.

'I could go for another Sprite. You want something to drink, Rogue?'

'Oh, yeah.' They walked to the counter in silence, bought their drinks, sat back at the table they had abandoned so recently.

'So.' Said Jubilee.

'Yeah.'

A grin suddenly broke across the younger girl's face.

'Let's just hope they don't put any dents in the jeep.'

'Jubilee!'

'Sawyer.' Lucas acknowledged, emerging from the bathroom. Veronica turned to enjoy the sight of her partner clad only in a motel towel for a long moment, and almost pouted as he retreated into the bathroom with a few articles of clothing. She frowned to herself.

'I told Price and Chase to meet us here at eight.' She called. 'They should be here any moment.' Lucas reappeared, wearing jeans and a T-Shirt that stretched across his torso, and she clapped a carefully neutral expression onto her face. 'Nice tattoo, by the way.'

'Which one?' The big man replied.

'The arm.' It was a simple one, a scroll bearing the words 'Semper Fideles', wrapped around his left bicep. The alternative was the jagged scar in the shape of a letter 'M' that marred his face; Veronica had never felt justified in asking about it.

'Something is troubling you.' He commented. She looked at him, and then stood up.

'It can wait.'

'Is it that I investigated your background?'

'I said, it can wait, Bishop.' She hissed. He raised an eyebrow at that, but sat down on the end of the bed to wait in silence.

Sawyer paced.

'Veronica.' He said after a moment, and her head snapped round. 'We are partners.'

'Yeah, you know, I'm aware of that. And if you're going to give me a speech about working together to get the job done, I'm on top of it.'

'We should trust each other.' She glared at him, and was just considering how to phrase her retort when a knock on the door interrupted her. Turning, she admitted Wesley and Cordelia.

'Good morning, Miss Sawyer.' Wesley began. 'Agent Bishop.' Veronica scowled at this. Cordelia followed the Englishman in, yawning through flawless makeup. 'Has there been any progress in the hunt?'

'The credit card company is not being very forthcoming.' Bishop rumbled. 'They maintain that when the account was reactivated details of transactions became private.'

'Duh.' Mumbled Cordelia. 'I need coffee.' She turned towards the door.

'Milk, no sugar.' Wesley said to her back. She stopped dead.

'Okay.' She turned back round, smiling a sweet, and patently false, smile. 'Would anyone else like coffee?'

'Black.' Sawyer told her.

'The same.' Added her partner.

'This is Starbucks I'm going to. What kind of coffee do you want?'

'Just . . . use your discretion, Cordelia.' Wesley suggested. She shrugged, and headed out. 'Not that she's got any, mind you.' He added quietly.

'I heard that.' Shouted from the corridor. The Englishman turned back to the agents.

'What about violent incidents? The last time Faith was loose we were able to track her down by the trail of injured bystanders.'

'I already thought of that.' Sawyer replied. 'No violent incidents involving super-strong young women in the past forty-eight hours. In fact, no violent incidents involving super-strong young women in New York since 1977.' Bishop looked up at her, an inscrutable look on his face. 'We need to liase with the local field office and call in to the Task Force. Do you have anything?'

'The first thing to consider is whether or not Faith is being held against her will. She entered custody of her own accord, and stayed there by choice; what exactly was offered to her to persuade her to leave is an interesting question. She is a very impulsive young woman who has a lot of trouble with self-control,' ('I mean, if I kill him, would that help? Or just be really funny?') 'but I rather doubt that she would have left the prison willingly unless an opportunity for redemption presented itself.'

'Excuse me?' Veronica was slightly puzzled by this. Wesley paused for a long moment.

'Why exactly are you investigating Faith?' He asked.

'Why do you think?'

'Because she's unusually strong?' The Briton seemed rather cautious.

'There is rather more to her than her strength.' Bishop rumbled.

'And you want to know what we know, so you can decide how much to reveal.' Sawyer went on.

'That would be an accurate summation.'

'She's a mutant, isn't she?' The young woman asked. Something odd flitted across Wesley's face, before he answered.

'Her abilities include enhanced strength and durability, heightened reflexes, and accelerated healing. When I met Faith, I was unfamiliar with the concept of mutation.' He paused. 'I actually only became aware of them late last year, while investigating a case involving a young woman with telekinetic abilities. However, from very early in our acquaintance I understood that Faith was quite exceptionally dangerous.' He looked up. 'Faith went to prison of her own accord. She had a… breakthrough, I suppose is the best word, and accepted that she had done wrong. But there is, so far as I know, no prison on Earth that could hold her against her will.'

'A breakthrough?'

'Faith killed three people, but the first was an accident. After that, though, she began to enjoy the violence. Her abilities led her to see herself as being better than others, and therefore having the right to kill. Eventually, Angel persuaded her otherwise. He might have done so earlier, saving two lives and preventing much suffering, had it not been for my ham-handed intervention.' Things were beginning to clarify to Veronica; whatever the real story of Faith and Wesley was, it had left him feeling guilty. About his treatment of the girl who had probably tortured him half to death.

'What exactly was your relationship?' Bishop asked. He'd moved behind the Briton, who had to crane round to meet his gaze.

'I was supposed to be her mentor.' Wesley replied. 'Unfortunately, I was too arrogant even to begin. In many ways, everything that has happened to Faith in the last two and a half years is my fault.'

'And everything she has done to others?'

'Nobody is born evil.'

'Are you sure of that?' Wesley paused, thinking of countless demons, of all the misery and suffering that filled the world, and of a little child who had terrified the demon that possessed him.

'Yes, I'm sure.' He told the bigger man.

'And who made you her mentor?' Sawyer asked.

'I'm sorry.' Wesley replied. 'I'm not going to answer that question.'


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's Note:** This is changing lists from X-Men: The Movie to Buffy the Vampire Slayer Crossovers with each update. Which is why you may have missed things.

Also, the big plot changes start here.

And, finally, just to re-iterate: the bit about the Slayer was written over a year ago, before the clusterfuck that is Season Seven, with its nonsensical plot and horrific retcons, was even heard of. Wherever this goes, the Slayer in my world is the mystical avatar of an ancient power, not the result of demon rape organised by ancient shamans. She's a natural force for good, whatever that may mean, not an ambiguous weapon. It just happens that humanity can ruin the most careful of equations.

**Chapter Five**

Wesley was deep in thought when he left the FBI agents' room, an hour later.

'Got any good ideas swirling around up there?' Cordelia asked him casually. She stopped as the Englishman, ignoring her, turned away down the corridor. 'Hello! Our rooms are this way.'

'Short of you having a vision, no. I'm going out.' He replied distantly. Cordelia hurried to join him as he pressed the lift call button.

'You think you might be able to find the reason you limp in wet weather by yourself, Wes? Then what?'

'I don't think I can find her.'

'So what are you going to do?'

'Find someone who can.' The lift doors slid open, and he stepped inside.

'Hold it. Hold it. Time out.' She stopped them from closing. 'I thought we were working with the well-armed agents of the system to which she should be returned?' He grabbed her arm and pulled her in with him.

'Yes. We were. I did some thinking this morning. They think Faith's a mutant. Now, I don't know if you've been keeping up with current affairs lately, but very few mutants even make it in to federal custody, and those that do are usually given anything but a fair trial.'

'Like she deserves a fair trial.'

'Everyone deserves a fair trial, Cordelia. It's why we have war crimes tribunals instead of death squads. We are going to find her, and I am going to talk to her, and after that... we will decide when the time comes.'

'We? What's with 'we'? I don't want to go near her unless I have to.'

'Agent Sawyer said that there have been no reported incidents of violence involving young women with superhuman strength.' Wesley was ignoring her. 'So let's assume her actions haven't been reported.'

'Great. So you're going to find her victims in a city of ten million people? How long do you think that's going to take?'

'We're not going to be asking people.' He told her, and Cordelia suddenly felt that she should never have left Los Angeles.

Back in the room, Veronica was pacing.

'Sawyer?' Lucas asked. 'Are you going to tell me what's wrong?' She turned to face him.

'Bishop, we're partners, right?'

'Yes.'

'Do you trust me?'

'As much as I trust anyone.' He replied. 'You're the brains and I'm the brawn.'

'The sage and the soldier?' She asked. 'You never told me your sister was a mutant.' His head snapped up.

'How did you find out?'

'I'm a cop, remember? Detective work. Last night I looked over superhuman-related incidents for the last twenty-five years. A teenage mutant girl gets beaten to death in New York City, and her brother just happens to be a police officer. How did the Bureau miss that?' Bishop suddenly turned, and Veronica suddenly remembered that he outweighed her by at least one hundred pounds of solid muscle, and was a highly trained killer.

'How do you think?' He seemed to loom over her.

'You tell me.' She replied. 'You're the telepath.'

His reaction left her somewhat astonished.

It had been a long time.

Faith dressed silently in the little room with its bare walls and plain furniture. Gambit slept in the hollow made by their bodies, his shoulders still shining with sweat. After the first time, on the hood of Mr Summers' jeep, they'd come back here and fucked 'till he passed out, her first sex in over a year, first in her own body in more than two.

It had been a long time, but Faith could still remember what it used to be like.

Sex with Remy had been... interesting. Faith was fast and brutal in bed, as in much of her life, but on this occasion her partner had, for the first time in what felt like forever, been her equal. He'd calmed her, turned fucking into sex and moved sex towards… something more. He had countered her snarled obscenities with whispered endearments, turned frenzied lust into slow-burning desire.

It had been fun.

Now, it was the morning after, and for the first time that she could remember Faith had actually slept with the guy. That, too had been nice, which was one reason she was leaving before he woke up. It was her room; she should really just throw him out and forget him. But last night had been fun, and, besides, she was trying to be a better person. She could be kind.

She walked into the kitchen, and found Rogue and the Professor drinking tea.

'Good morning, Faith.' Xavier said. 'How was your night?' Rogue seemed almost to snarl at that.

'Great.' Faith replied, moving over to the fridge. As a Slayer she had been accustomed to sleeping until well after noon, but a year in prison had got her used to early mornings. With the three-hour time difference, she had woken up just before ten. 'Nice beds.' Cold meat, cheese, orange juice, Dr Pepper – didn't they have any breakfast food?

'Try the cupboard to your left.' Xavier suggested. She did so, and found a half-empty box of doughnuts. 'Hardly the most nutritious of breakfasts, but with a house full of teenagers I've long since given up trying to enforce healthy dietary practices.'

'Right.' She replied, with her mouth full. She swallowed. 'Hey, Rogue. You're looking wicked vicious this morning.' Rogue glared at her, then glanced at the Professor.

'Faith, there are several things I need to talk to you about.' The Professor told her. 'If you have no objections, Logan and Scott will be assessing your abilities this afternoon. I would like to talk to you in my office first. Say, eleven?'

'Hey, you're the headmaster.'

'What's so funny?' Veronica had seen Bishop smile before. She'd never seen him laugh out loud.

'A telepath?' He asked, cutting off his laughter abruptly. 'You think I can read people's minds?'

'You're a mutant.' She accused.

'True.' He replied. There was suddenly no sign of humour in his face. 'I'm not a telepath, though.'

'So what are you?'

'Fireproof.' He replied. 'And immune to electrocution and radiation. I don't get heatstroke, either.' He glanced up at her. 'Nothing that could threaten you. But right now, you can threaten me.'

'So your employer is a telepath.' She said. 'Either that, or something else that let you slip through the background checks.'

'My employer?'

'Cut the crap, Bishop. You're a good cop, and I've suddenly realised just why we keep almost tracking down mutants who've just left town. Who are you working for? What do they do with them?'

'We don't hurt anybody.' Bishop replied.

'Who are we?' She was angry in a way he had never seen before.

'I can't tell you.' He said. Veronica abruptly drew her sidearm, levelling the massive weapon at his face.

'Bishop, my first boyfriend blew himself in half with dynamite, that's true. But he wouldn't have done so if I hadn't already put two bullets through his lungs. You know my secret, you can tell me yours. Answer me.'

'I can't.' He repeated. He looked down the barrel of her gun. It didn't waver at all. Looking past the weapon, he could read the determination in her eyes. 'But if you let me get out my phone, I can maybe introduce you to someone who can.'

Faith sauntered into Xavier's office and perched on the edge of his desk, before remembering herself and backing away towards one of the armchairs.

'So, what's this about?'

'Tell me, Faith.' The Professor had decided to get straight to the point. 'What do you know about vampires?'

'Dead people walking around and eating people. Stab 'em with a pointed stick and they go poof.' She looked up at him. 'You did some research, found out I'm really not a mutant?'

'You are the Slayer.' He replied.

'A... Yeah, The Slayer.' She agreed. 'So... what are you gonna do with me?'

'Well, there's no reason why you shouldn't stay here for the moment. However, there are certain things that will need to be dealt with differently.' The 'phone had started ringing as he spoke, and now he held up a hand. 'If you could excuse me for a moment?'

He lifted the receiver. As he talked, Faith got up to prowl around his office, touching ornaments and looking at pictures. She listened to his conversation with half an ear, but one-sided as it was it made little sense. There seemed to be a problem, and someone called Worthington was part of the solution.

She stopped in front of a picture hanging directly opposite the Professor's desk, where he could see it whenever he looked up. It showed six people. There was Scott Summers, looking about nineteen. There was Xavier, looking exactly the same, right down to the wheelchair. And there were four others. The first was a big, bulky young man with massively broad shoulders and extremely large hands. He looked vaguely familiar, although Faith wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the glasses. Then there was a boy of about thirteen, with sandy hair and a mischievous smile, who seemed to be holding a snowball in one hand. Standing at the back was a tall, very beautiful youth about the same age as Summers. He had a square jaw and an arrogant smirk. He also had big, white, feathery wings spreading from his back. The final member of the group was sat beside Summers, and had her arm around his waist. She looked to be several years older than him, but the way she leaned in to him suggested a high degree of intimacy. Faith had never sat with anyone like that. The woman had dark red hair and a look of cool intelligence. Faith decided instantly that whoever she was, she didn't like her.

The small group looked relaxed and happy. Scott was smiling, with no trace of the bitterness that now haunted his face. Whatever the circumstances under which the picture had been taken, it had clearly been a good time.

The date '1996' was written on the lower edge of the frame.

Behind her Xavier hung up the phone.

'Where were we?' He began.

Rogue enjoyed mornings in the X-Mansion. The summer was, day to day, rather like a massively extended weekend, which meant Remy and Jubilee would stay in bed until noon, while Scott and Logan would head off to do broody things, which normally involved either beating the hell out of one another in the Danger Room or playing with motorbikes – both in the garage and along the old highway that ran to the East end of the school grounds (and she was almost certain that the Professor didn't know about this; he certainly wouldn't approve if he knew of Scott's borderline-suicidal style of riding). All this meant she could generally talk to the Professor in peace and quiet. This morning had been slower than most, due to the activities of the previous night, and she hadn't remembered the fine details until Faith sauntered into the kitchen looking like the cat that not only got the cream but also managed a hostile takeover of the entire dairy.

Slightly mollified by the fact that the elder girl was clearly going to have a seriously hard day – she'd heard rumours about what happened when Wolverine and Cyclops tested a student together, and they weren't pretty – she'd had her improving mood demolished when Remy stumbled downstairs dressed in the previous night's trousers and muttered,

'Y' seen Fait', chere?'

'She's in with the Professor. Why? Didn't ya see enough of her last night?'

'Non, it's just . . . le Professeur, you say? He got her up?'

'She got herself up. Walked out on ya in your sleep, did she?'

'Oui. This thief, he wonder why she abandon him like that.'

What does it mean to be the Slayer?

You might be a normal girl, with all that entails. You might be born to loving parents who bring you up with care, affection and a little discipline. You're an only child, but a happy family. You go to school, you make friends. You're lucky enough to have a fairly high metabolism, and are naturally fairly athletic. Maybe you become a cheerleader or a gymnast.

You might have known your potential destiny from early childhood, had it drilled in to you along with fighting skills since you could walk. You don't remember your parents; you were raised by a Watcher. You're alone. Your education is in mysticism and monsters, killing techniques and weapons training. You have a certain natural talent for such things – nothing exceptional, just slightly above-average coordination and reflexes. You almost certainly develop several major communication disorders, but that's okay, you're being raised against the possibility of becoming a weapon.

You might be a slum kid, born in a tenement, raised on the streets. Your mother never wanted you; your father was never even aware of your existence. You drop out of the education system before high school and learn your lessons in the backstreets and alleyways. You learn to fight to defend yourself. You see the effects of poverty, the violence and drugs and simple brutality of the gangers, and learn to accept them even as you hate them. If you're lucky, a Watcher finds you before you take up drugs or prostitution.

It all changes when you're chosen, of course. You're maybe fifteen years old – maybe a little older or younger, but never more than seventeen or less than fourteen. The Powers that Be arranged this system countless millennia past – a girl, because in the old tribal systems girls were worth far less than boys, young, so that she would not have a family and because in that time a thirty-year-old was an old man. You wake up from terrible dreams one morning, and there's blood on the sheets. You find that you're strong – you start off stronger than all but the most muscular of humans, and it gradually increases as time passes. You find that your reflexes are faster, that you can run further, jump higher. Your flesh is tougher; you bleed less, almost never bruise. When a weapon is placed in your hand you automatically feel the weight and balance, know how to use it almost instinctively so that only minimal training is necessary. Your senses are sharper; you can hear heartbeats and see in the dark. You dream regularly of monsters and violence and blood, blood, blood. And, suddenly, you can sense the vampires.

Your Watcher reacts swiftly. You are sent into the field as soon as they realise that you've been called, and if you're lucky they give you enough help and training to survive the first month. If you're really lucky, you might last six months, by which time you might have picked up enough skills to last a full year. If you manage a year, of course, you've got enough experience to start believing yourself invincible, and once again survival becomes a matter of luck.

Faith got lucky. She'd been going five months when she met Buffy Summers. For a short while, they kept each other alive. Then Faith killed a man by accident, and the violence that had been part of her life longer than she had ever wanted to remember returned full force. She spiralled downwards; every time it seemed she'd hit bottom, another opportunity opened up for her to go lower, and she seized it with both hands and open eyes. It had become clear to her that she was only good for killing, for violence, and she welcomed the knowledge.

Then, finally, she stopped. There was a man named Angel, who talked to her, and told her the truth, and let her see a little more clearly. She gave it all up because of him.

'Gave it up?' Xavier asked, his first interruption.

'The power.' Faith told him.

It can't be explained, only experienced. Because when you're the Slayer you know that the world is full of monstrous things, that there are demons more terrible than anyone's nightmares walking the night, and that in all the world they're afraid of only one thing, and you're it. Yeah, you die young, but you're alive every second along the way.

You don't live in prison, you just exist.

'You came here to live?'

'I came here because Angel and . . . Because Angel taught me that it's not the monsters you kill, it's the lives you save. Remy and Scott said I might be able to do a little of that from here.'

Charles Gunn, street kid, former gang leader, and demon hunter, carried a mobile phone. He wasn't exactly proud of this fact, nor was he ashamed; while it was severely out of phase with his image, it was occasionally necessary. He'd given the number to a small group of people who might conceivably need it. One such was the young woman known as Anne Steel.

'You in trouble?' He asked her. He was spending a lot of time at the Hyperion these days, keeping an eye on the crazy woman hiding upstairs, but Anne's call had woken him up at home.

'No. Gunn, this is personal.'

'Yeah?'

'Some of your old crew have moved in here to help with security.'

'Yeah, I got that.'

'One of them brought this box of stuff that he says belonged to your sister. He says the vampires killed her a couple of years back. Do you want to come and pick it up?'

Gunn paused, remembering.

'Gunn?'

'Yeah. I'll be round in an hour or so. Anne?'

'Yes?'

'They never just kill you.' He ended the call.


	7. Chapter Six

**Authors Note:** As previously mentioned, this is switching between two lists with each update. This is because I want reviews, no other reason.

**Chapter Six**

Wesley had learned a lot since leaving the Watcher's Council. He'd learned that no amount of training could make up for a total lack of common sense. He'd learned that, no matter how good it looks, off-the-peg leather is not a practical option for hand-to-hand combat. He'd learned that, even compared to torture by a crazed and omnicidal Slayer, being shot in the stomach hurt like nothing he'd ever imagined, that good and evil are not always clear-cut, and that there's no such thing as cheating in a fight to the death. And he'd learned that, no matter how monstrous and brutal they may seem normally, most demons still occasionally like to just sit back, relax, and have a drink with friends.

In the city the size of New York it was pretty much guaranteed that somewhere there would be a bar that kept blood bags beside the whiskey bottles. And, the way Faith operated, if her presence weren't already known around there it soon would be.

Assuming, of course, that she wasn't being held captive and experimented on, or something of that kidney.

'You wanted to see me, Professor.'

'Yes. Sit down, Scott.'

'I'm assuming this is about Faith.'

'Indeed. Tell me, Scott, do you believe in vampires.' Almost any other man would probably have laughed in Xavier's face, or possibly simply fixed an artificial smile in place and nodded along. Scott Summers paused, considering.

'I try to stay open-minded about most things, Professor, but they do seem highly unlikely. I suppose you have evidence to the contrary?'

'You could call it evidence. Last night, according to the memories I skimmed from the group, Jubilee, Rogue and Gambit watched Faith fight and kill two vampires. May I?' A gentle probe tapped against Scott's psyche, and he closed his eyes and opened his mind in acceptance. The professor gave him an image from Jubilee's memory of Faith driving a makeshift stake into the chest of a man with bizarrely deformed features, who exploded into dust.

'I suppose it's too much to hope that she was drunk?' Scott asked.

'After their previous experience her classmates have unanimously agreed never to let her near alcohol, if you remember.' Scott had to smile at this. 'In any case Rogue, Gambit and Faith all have similar memories, though coloured by uncertainty and fear in the former two cases and a deep joy in combat on Faith's part.'

'Joy?' Scott was instantly concerned.

'Vampires exist, Scott. I have known this for a long time. There is nothing remotely Anne Rice about them. They are physically powerful monsters, not predators feeding on blood but rather parasites that derive an horrific pleasure from killing human beings.'

'You know this, and –'

'The X-Men would be largely ineffective against them. Among my many other interests is an organisation dedicated to curbing their excesses and, so far as is possible, thinning their ranks. Their most powerful weapon, though, has nothing to do with nature. It is a young human, gifted with extraordinary powers from an unknown source, known as the Slayer.'

'You mean . . .'

'That Faith really is the Avatar of an ancient power of some description, existing to protect humanity from the forces of darkness.'

Scott simply stared at him.

'Kurt?' The blue-skinned mutant looked up from his book.

'Jubilation.' He said to the girl who stood before him. On anyone else he'd have called her expression nervous; this being Jubilee, he chose to call it worrying.

'Whatcha reading?' She asked, seemingly at random. Kurt's response was to silently raise his book to show her the spine.

'The Song of Songs.' He told her.

'Okay.' She said. Jubilee had been raised by Buddhists-turned-atheists before slipping through the cracks in the religion-free state care system, so this meant nothing to her. 'Uh… If I ask you something, and it sounds like I'm insulting you, but really I'm just trying to find stuff out, will you get mad?'

'Perhaps.' He replied. 'But you will not know if you do not ask, nicht wahr?'

'Well…' She paused. Kurt put on his most composed expression, and wondered whether she had finally decided to just ask about the more unconventional uses of his tail. 'You know you look kinda like a demon?'

'That fact had not escaped my attention, yes.' He replied solemnly.

'You ever meet a real one?' the words came out in a rush. Kurt looked up at her, mild yellow eyes on nervous blue ones.

'Yes.' He replied quietly. 'And you?'

'Back when I was on the streets in LA.' She said. 'Did you hear about last night?'

'No. What happened last night?'

'Vampires.' She suddenly grinned. 'We were out dancing and Faith dragged me over to talk to these guys, and I tried to argue, 'cause, hey, they weren't exactly my type, even if I was legal, which I'm totally not, and then I looked at them again and realised that, y'know, they weren't quite normal. So I'm like, this is a really bad idea, Faith, but she can't hear me 'cause of the music. And she gets all flirty with the guys, and then drags me out the back way with them following. And they come out and I'm still trying to warn her, but she's all 'I know', and she smashes this crate to make a stake, and then the two guys come out behind her and Faith's like, I'm so going to kick your asses, and they're totally laughing while they attack her, and then she does just kick their asses. And then Gambit and Rogue turn up – and I am so not asking why they were headed out the back way together – just in time to see her dust the two guys, and I'm like, hey, vampires! And Rogue's like oh, vampires. And Gambit's like, huh, vampires?' She paused to inhale for what seemed to be the first time in her monologue. 'And he had this seriously cute look on his face like, totally stunned and no idea what's going on for once, and Faith's totally casual about it, and when we ask her how she killed them she says she's a Slayer. What's a Slayer?'

'Dann ist Glaube wirklich unsere stärke und schild[1].' Kurt muttered, and closed his bible.

'Huh?' She asked.

'The Slayer is a legend.' He replied, and paused, going over what little he knew in his mind and wondering where to begin.

'You haven't met Logan, have you?' Mr Summers was asking as he led Faith into the depths of the school.

'Guess not.' Faith replied. 'What does he…' She was cut off as Gambit stepped into the corridor ahead of them

'Fait'.' He said. 'Remy missed you dis mornin', him.' He gave her a rakish smile. 'Like a word wid you, ma belle.'

'I'll be waiting by the elevator. Take your time.' Mr Summers said, and moved off before Faith could argue.

'Whaddya want, LeBeau?' Gambit was somewhat surprised; he wasn't used to getting quite this reaction from his conquests.

Then again, he wasn't quite sure that Faith counted as a conquest.

'Jus' wondering where you'd gone.' And why.

'What, you were expecting we'd wake up in each other's arms and cuddle all morning?'

'Dat wasn't quite de plan Remy had in mind.' He used the Suggestive Leer, an attack mode even more effective in some cases than the Whipped Cream Technique. Faith seemed unmoved.

'Yeah? Well, not to bruise your ego too much, but you didn't exactly leave me wanting a repeat performance.' Faith strode past him, suppressing a smirk at the shocked expression on his face, and then stopped a short distance down the corridor, adding over her shoulder; 'Hey, it was fun though. Really. Maybe some other time.'

And, with Gambit's ego shot down in flames, she headed on towards this Logan guy and her 'Skills and Powers assessment'.

Finding some things is just a matter of knowing how to look. In New York, the story runs, almost anything can be found by talking to a taxi driver. Assuming you can find one with a language in common.

Wesley had been rather surprised to find that this story was true. The third cab that he and Cordy had tried was driven by a half-breed Anamovic demon, who had nodded happily when asked to take them 'somewhere I can get a good Vitriol and Vodka'.

To the surprise of neither Wesley nor Cordelia the bar was underground, beneath an old auto garage in Coney Island.

'Are we gonna be safe in there?' Cordelia asked, peering at the door.

'Just act arrogant. Or normal, in your case.' Wesley strode past her before she could work out the insult, and walked with calm confidence into the room. The bar was very quiet, with just a scattering of lunchtime drinkers – three vampires, a couple of probable humans, and a Tviokhian Crawler, nursing a beaker of what the former Watcher guessed would be distilled bile cut with battery acid, in one corner. Wesley made straight for the bar.

The bartender looked almost exactly like an ordinary young woman with pale skin, except for her eyes, which were a shocking scarlet.

'Whaddya want?' She practically snarled.

'A gin and tonic.' Wesley replied politely. He could think of four different species that this being might potentially be, and would only feel confident about offending one of them.

'Do you have grapefruit juice?' Cordelia asked beside him. Wesley glanced at her, but then decided that if she didn't have the sense to order something transparent in a place like this, it was her lookout.

He sipped his drink – scowling as the cheap gin reached his taste buds – and then turned to glance around the room.

'Looking for somebody?' The bartender asked behind him.

'You might say that.' Wesley replied. 'Had you heard that the Slayer is in town?' Judging by the expression on the face of the… woman, she hadn't.

'Since when?' The few patrons were all suddenly looking at him, and it was one of the vampires who had asked.

'Since yesterday.' He replied. 'Word hasn't got out yet?'

'Slayers aren't known for leaving survivors behind.' The bartender commented. 'What's your angle, human?'

'I'm looking to remove her.' He replied.

'You a Watcher?' the vampire spokesman asked. He looked about thirty years old, short blond hair and a powerful build.

'The last Watcher I ran into, I poisoned.' Wesley replied with perfect honesty. 'No. I'm not a Watcher.'

'So what's your interest?' Wesley turned to look directly at the creature for the first time. He reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it open to reveal a crisscrossing pattern of faint scars.

'The last time we met, she indulged herself at my expense. I'd like to respond.' He gave a small smile, and began re-buttoning his shirt. The vampire scowled at him. 'What do you know, Mr…?'

'Cale. A couple of my people didn't come back this morning.' He said finally. 'They were planning on finding something to eat at a local club.' He and Wesley locked gazes for a long moment, and then Cordelia interrupted.

'So? Tell us the name of the club already?'

'Okay.' Said Faith. 'What is this place?'

'The school gym.' Summers told her. 'Some of the kids like to call it the Danger Room.'

Faith swivelled slowly, looking around a room the size of an aircraft carrier, walls, floor and ceiling made of what looked like metre-square steel panels.

'Freaky. Who built it?'

'The Professor ordered its construction. The design was by a man named Forge. The actual work was done by local contractors, although there was already a quite large natural cave under the house.' As he spoke, he removed his shades, replacing them with his combat visor. 'I'm told you have exceptional physical abilities. Exactly how much damage can you reasonably take?' Faith had moved a short distance away, and she now turned to face him.

'Well, a knife to the gut with a long drop onto a short truck turned me into a big vegetable for a while.' She turned her back once more. 'The worst I had before that was from this big, ugly vamp's big, ugly pet alligator. He kinda shredded my arm, and that took about a week to heal. It didn't help that the owner broke about eight of my ribs straight after.'

'It sounds like you were lucky to escape.'

'Stabbed him in the face with a metal crucifix and then ran to California. Next time round, I had help. He's dust.' There was a melancholy note to her voice that Scott hadn't heard before in their – admittedly brief – acquaintance.

'You don't sound too happy about it.'

'Yeah, well, we all got our regrets.' Her shoulders straightened. 'So what's this testing then?'

'Me.' Said a fresh voice from the open doorway. Faith turned to view the newcomer.

All-over black leather works for some people, and Logan was definitely one of these people. He was, Faith noticed, tall – of a height with Mr Summers, and a lot more muscular. Not to mention hairier. Faith wasn't normally a beard kind of girl, but the look worked for this guy – worked big time. He was, in short, pretty. Add to that the dangerous glint in his eyes and the slight smirk he wore, and you had something that looked not unlike Faith's perfect one-night stand. Too bad he hadn't been handy twelve hours ago.

He prowled – there was no other word for it – past Summers and into the room, glancing around briefly before returning his attention to her.

'First of all we need to assess your combat skills.' Scott was saying. 'Which means you fight with Wolverine.'

'Wolverine, huh?' She asked, starting to circle the big man. 'Freaky name.'

'It's Logan, off duty.' He replied, rolling his shoulders. The resultant sound was somewhat metallic. Faith responded by clenching her fists hard enough to make the knuckles crunch.

'How badly do you want me to beat him up?'

'As much as you like.' Summers replied. 'You can't hurt him. He's almost indestructible. Try not to hit his crotch, though.' Before Faith could complete the 'Huh?' that rose to her lips, Wolverine had attacked.

Gunn gave his sister's clothes back to Anne. Without them the already small boxful of property seemed almost pathetically empty. There were a couple of books, a few pieces of mostly fake jewellery he had stolen for her or she had lifted for herself, a little makeup, again probably stolen. There was a picture of the two of them in a cheap plastic frame, and a gold earring that had belonged to the first vampire she ever managed to stake. Knickknacks, memories and trophies, and a pawnbroker probably wouldn't give him ten dollars for everything his sister's life had left behind. And, at the bottom of the box, there was a scrap of paper marked with an out of state phone number. Written on the other side in Alonna's untidy scrawl were two words.

'Jubilee. Xavier's.'

  


* * *

[1] 'Then Faith is truly our strength and shield.' This bad pun brought to you with the help of Babelfish.com. I don't speak German.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

'The Slayer is an ancient legend. A warrior-maiden, with the strength of Samson and the purity of Our Lady herself. For her faith and courage she is chosen by Our Lord as His instrument on Earth.'

Jubilee squirmed uncomfortably. She'd seen the effect a cross could have on a vampire, and as far as she was concerned that had raised the total number of things Christianity had to offer her to one.

'I'm sorry?' Kurt could see her discomfort.

'Nothing.' She replied.

'Please…'

'I just have crucifixion issues, okay? So, y'know, less of the God Squad programming.' Kurt sighed.

'Jubilation, I will not try to force my faith upon you. But in return, it would be a politeness on your part to respect my beliefs.' He sounded slightly disappointed.

'Right. But Faith's about as pure as that Roman chick with the weird name.' Kurt looked at her patiently. 'Y'know, the one in that movie which you showed us with all the old English guys.'

'Valeria Messalina.' Kurt had been somewhat surprised to find himself working as a Classics teacher, and, faced with a classful of disinterested teenagers, had resorted to using _I, Claudius_ as a teaching aid. 'That sounds to me a little extreme, Jubilation. Faith may indeed be a startlingly outgoing person, but this is most likely an act.'

'She slept with Remy last night.' Jubilee couldn't help but break into a grin at his expression.

'The Slayer has… der Teufel, sagen sie? I should scarcely believe it. Then, perhaps, all that I know of this thing is now false.'

'Huh?'

'I have read that the Slayer is a warrior of purity and… faith.' They shared a slight smile. 'For all her virtues, the girl Faith seems neither pure nor… devout.'

'Okay. But what can the Slayer do?'

'Do? The Slayer is a warrior. She fights like none on Earth.'

Faith blocked Wolverine's first punches effortlessly; his fists were heavy, but slow, and she immediately guessed he must be holding back. She countered with a couple of jabs to his chest, which felt like punching a brick wall. The big man staggered backwards, grinning, and then came at her, moving faster this time. She dodged, and blocked, and felt an impact like a cloth-wrapped sledgehammer explode against her shoulder, and then kicked him in the ribs hard enough to spin him through the air. He hit the ground hard, but came up instantly into a fighting crouch. He was still grinning.

'Smooth, kid.' He told her.

She smiled right back at him, and moved forwards.

When the combat began, Cyclops had retreated to one corner to observe. He had, shortly after Logan's return to the mansion, urged the feral mutant to go with him to martial arts classes in order to improve his fighting style; although an immensely talented hand-to-hand combatant, Wolverine's technique was unrefined, and Scott reckoned he could be so much more. Watching the man fight, though, he always gained the impression that what was really needed was not training but simply rediscovery; Logan might to the casual eye seem to fight like an untrained brawler, but there were traces of half-a-dozen styles in his stance and movement. Deadly as he might be now, it seemed to Cyclops that his teammate had once been even more dangerous.

He and Faith had a lot in common, though. Like him, she was more talent than skill, using astonishing speed and strength to beat her opponent down. Like him, too, she had traces of training in her movements; rather less, but clearly she had at some point made an effort to refine her techniques.

Scott winced as Faith used Logan's arm as a handle to slam his skull into the floor, which dented. Logan responded by knocking her down with a clumsy kick to the jaw. The two combatants pushed themselves to their feet; both seemed somewhat unsteady, but still moved well.

Faith spat blood onto the floor. She was still smiling.

'We got any rules in here?' She asked.

'Just one. No weapons.' Wolverine replied, and feinted a punch to her face before kicking her legs out from under her. She rolled straight back onto her feet, blocking frantically as her opponent launched a series of rapid blows at her. She staggered under the weight of his attacks before suddenly reaching up and catching his right fist in mid punch, using it as a support to flip backwards, plant one booted foot on his chest, and smash the other heel into his face. Blood burst from Wolverine's nose. Faith landed easily, twisting his arm round to throw him into the nearest wall. He hit with an audible clang.

'Jeez. You made of metal, or something?' She asked, adjusting her stance. Cyclops reckoned he could see something of Tai Chi Chuan in the way she placed her feet.

'Or something.' Wolverine had landed on his feet, apparently unaffected by an impact that would have crippled a normal man.

'I think that's enough.' Cyclops spoke up. Neither glanced in his direction.

'I don't think we're done yet.'

'What he said.' Faith shrugged off her jacket, and threw it to one side. 'Can you still walk, or do I have to go all the way over there to kick your ass?' Wolverine charged.

'They're not there.' Cordelia said.

'We will have to go without them, then.'

'Yeah. Let's go interrogate a New York bartender with no authority whatsoever. What do we tell the police? "I'm sorry, officer, but I couldn't be bothered to wait for the proper authorities"? We're looking for a rogue Slayer, Wes. We can't go after her alone. She'll kill us both, especially you.'

'We can continue tracking her down, at least. It never hurts to make inquiries.'

'Speaking of, where do you think our friendly neighbourhood government agents have vanished to?'

Veronica Sawyer was not sure where she had been expecting to meet the local leader of what Bishop had referred to as the 'Mutant Underground'. She certainly hadn't expected it to be a corporate office building on Manhattan Island. If she had, she wouldn't have expected her partner to lead her straight in through the entrance lobby.

They were clearly expected. Two security guards ushered them towards a lift, discreetly hidden at the back of the lobby. When they stepped inside the doors immediately slid closed, and they began moving upwards at what felt like considerable speed.

'This place...' Sawyer said after a moment.

'Not what you expected?' Bishop replied. 'If I can pass, why not others?'

'Yeah, but... this is an international conglomerate. How'd a mutant get that kind of money?'

'You think mutants just appear?' He asked. 'We're human too, Veronica. It's just people like Hodge often forget that.'

'And some of them are born rich?'

'Some of them are born rich, white and pretty.' He agreed. 'And Warren Worthington is the richest, whitest and prettiest of them all.'

'And he runs the Mutant Underground? He's a personal friend of Cameron Hodge. He was a major contributor to his father's election campaign.'

'He's not in charge. He just runs a local cell.' Bishop paused.

'You're going to kill me if I say the wrong thing, aren't you?' Sawyer asked.

'No. And that's one reason why I didn't tell you all this long before.'

There was a soft chime, and the doors slid open.

Wolverine's fists slammed into Faith's back, bearing her to the ground. She grunted in pain, and then rolled clear as he attempted to follow up, scissoring her legs to kick him in both sides of his head at once. Knocked off balance, the big man hit the ground at the same time as she came to her feet. She smashed a brutal kick to his stomach, lifting him off the ground, but he didn't seem to feel the impact, rising to a crouch before leaping at her throat. His weight bore her to the ground, and she frantically snapped her elbows into his face before rolling clear. She scrambled away as he once more stood upright.

Both combatants were beginning to look distinctly battered, the injuries they were inflicting beginning to exceed their powers of recuperation. But after half an hour, Faith was only just beginning to breathe hard; Wolverine showed no signs of fatigue.

Faith began circling her opponent. Logan reacted by shifting sideways until he was standing against the wall. Faith snarled, and rushed forward, driving a punch into his face with such force that his skull dented the wall behind. She followed it with two more punches, before smashing a roundhouse kick into his ribs. Wolverine managed to block a couple of attacks, but Faith was faster and stronger than him. The mutant was born to the ground, and Faith attempted to capitalise by stamping on his ribs. Unfortunately, the bones still proved unbreakable; knocked off balance, she staggered sideways, and Wolverine was able to kick her legs out from under her. The two of them rolled apart, and once more pushed themselves upright.

Any normal human would have collapsed long before, Cyclops realised, but these two were nowhere near finished. Wolverine was leaning against the wall, finally feeling the burn, and Faith was limping slightly – but, he knew, neither would show such weakness for long.

'Remy?'

'Rogue? Y' decided t' give up on de Drake boy and see what Gambit has to offer?'

'Thanks, sugah, but ah don't like sharing.' She smiled sweetly. 'You and Faith have fun together?' Gambit paused. He could tell he was in trouble, but it wasn't immediately clear why. Yes, he'd slept with Faith – at her instigation – but it wasn't as if Rogue had any claim on either of them. She was, to his disappointment, insistent on sticking with her nice, funny, boring boyfriend.

'Gambit knows he did.' He decided to stick with what worked, which meant strong sexual innuendo coupled with lashings of charm. 'Didn't hear no complaints from Fait' either, him.' He smirked at her.

Rogue was stalled by this tactic, simply because she hadn't imagined such a response.

'Can't help but wonder why you want to know.' Gambit went on.

'Because you don't do that, Remy.' She replied.

'Do what? Get jumped by un joli souris avec superhuman strength? De girl wasn't exactly asking permission. Faith, she just come out of prison, n'est ce pas? This thief can't help it if he de first t'ing she sees.'

The elevator doors slid back to admit the two FBI agents to Warren Worthington's penthouse office. A massive balcony took up nearly half the top floor of the building, while inside the office of the CEO and principal shareholder of one of the fifty or so biggest corporations in the world was carefully minimalist. The man himself was tall and lean, blond-haired and blue eyed, with broad shoulders and a dancer's waist. He moved like he was dancing as well, striding swiftly around the stainless-steel desk to shake Bishop's hand and then turning to Sawyer with a smile that displayed a quite dazzling set of orthodontic work.

She stuck her gun in his face.

'Hi.' She said as brightly as she was able. 'My name's Sawyer, and I've had a fucking awful week. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't arrest you on suspicion of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice.'

'Probable cause?' He asked her politely.

'I think you're a mutant.'

'Then you're correct.' He replied. 'But you'd look rather foolish making that declaration in a court of law. Money can buy a lot of things, miss Sawyer, and paperwork to prove my, as people are already beginning to put it, 'genetic purity', was surprisingly cheap.' He began to unfasten his tie. 'But with that out in the open, if you don't mind I'm going to dress down.'

As Veronica Sawyer watched in suspicion, he removed his tie and jacket, and then unbuttoned his shirt. Beneath he wore a lightweight T-shirt that, it was revealed, was split up the back. She had never seen anything like what followed.

After a moment Bishop interrupted her astonished reverie. 'Like I said, he's rich, white and pretty.'

'They're beautiful.' She said reverently. Worthington's wings beat down, once, and the resultant draught indicated their massive power. He smiled at her again.

She had to ask, even though it was obvious that everyone else did, too.

'Can you actually . . .'

'Would you like me to take you flying?' The man – he looked more like an angel – asked by way of an answer.

'And then drop me?' She asked, and laughed, slightly nervously. 'I didn't come here to play around.'

'I'm not trying to distract you.' Worthington told her. 'They just always seem to have that effect.'

Logan had Faith on the ground, her left arm twisted back and up in what looked to Scott like an exceptionally painful position. It didn't seem to be troubling her, though; her free hand was groping its way along her opponent's upper arm, making its way towards his throat. The Danger Room was silent except for the ragged breathing of the two combatants; both had long since given up on taunting, focussing all remaining energy on staying ahead, in the case of Faith, and staying upright, in the case of Logan.

Faith's hand caught Wolverine's collar, and she twisted. Her left shoulder dislocated with a wet crunching noise, and Wolverine hit the ground three feet away. The girl rolled over, rising on to her left knee and axing her right heel into his solar plexus, using the impact to spring herself to her feet and spin into a kick at his head. Wolverine was sent spinning, sliding away across the smooth metal floor. Faith started after him, left arm swinging at an obscene angle, but then seemed to remember herself.

She hurled herself sideways into the nearest wall, grunting in pain as the impact forced her shoulder back into its socket. Then she ran across the room, and kicked Wolverine in the balls.

He gave a snarl of rage, and delivered an uppercut to the girl's chin.

Charles Gunn looked at the 'phone. He looked at the slip of paper with Xavier's number on it. He looked back at the 'phone. And then he looked at his wallet, open to the picture of Alonna. He had no pictures of Alonna's friend; she hadn't liked being photographed. She had liked fighting, he remembered, her speed almost making up for her small size. She had liked a lot of things. She had liked taking Alonna shoplifting for horrible clothes and useless costume jewellery. She had liked to steal him T-shirts with stupid slogans on, and then the two girls would conspire to make him wear them, even if he did add a sweatshirt over the top. She had liked to make him smile, and Alonna laugh. She had no way of knowing that Alonna was dead, and that he no longer had any idea what he was doing.

He picked up the 'phone, and dialled.

'I'll get it!' Jubilee broke away from her increasingly awkward conversation with Kurt, and ran for the student 'phone.

Faith pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, and paused for a moment, trying to gather her strength.

Across from her Wolverine, slumped against the wall, had managed to find the mangled remains of a cigar in one of his shirt pockets.

Faith managed to lever herself into an almost upright position before rocking back onto her haunches and gasping for air.

Logan attempted to speak, but had to pause to spit out the blood and saliva that had filled his mouth.

'Got a light?' He finally managed. Cyclops, striding across the room towards Faith, flipped him a book of matches without looking.

Pained brown eyes stared up from a bruised and bloodied face at the young man who had orchestrated the hour-long brawl.

'Feel better?' He asked her. She felt crazed laughter bubbling up inside her, and felt herself falling backwards. Lying flat on her back and gazing at the steel-panelled ceiling, Faith let herself laugh out loud for what felt like the first time in forever.

She didn't stop laughing until she started crying.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

'Hi! You've reached Xavier's Academy for the Gifted, student line. If you are calling to join the class action paternity suit against Remy, please press button one now. If you are calling from the Enterprise, and want your captain and engineering officer back, please press button two now. If you are calling from Microsoft, Ben and Jerry's, or Playgirl magazine, I'm sorry, but Kitty, Bobby and Piotr are not in right now. Press button three to leave a message. If you have anything to do with the fashion industry whatsoever, press button four to talk to me, Jubilation Lee, style goddess in residence. For all other enquiries, please state your business now.'

There was a long pause, as whomever it was on the other end of the line attempted to make sense of the high-speed speech. Then, crackling faintly from the distance,

'Jubilee?' The voice was familiar.

'… Gunn?'

'Yeah. Uh…' He was cut off.

'Gunn! How are you? How's Alonna? She hasn't called in, like, a year. I figured you'd lost my number. I totally meant to come visit, but this is the craziest place and…'

'Jubilee.' His tone finally got through to her.

'Oh, God, what is it?'

'Alonna's dead, Jubes.' She found herself swaying, and leant against the wall for support.

'How?' That wasn't her voice. Her voice was loud and cheerful, and never used one word when a dozen would do as well.

'I screwed up. She got caught.' Gunn's voice was steady. Jubilee knew that his face would show no emotion. He always was a good liar.

'They turned her, didn't they?'

'Yeah.' Neither of them spoke. After a long moment, Jubilee hung up. She paused a moment, and then turned and walked out the front door of the mansion.

'Do come in.' Xavier said a moment before Kurt could knock on the door of his study. The German mutant hesitated a moment, before stepping inside.

'How may I help you?' Xavier asked, gesturing towards a chair. Kurt sprang lightly into position, dropping into a comfortable crouch on the edge of the seat.

'Herr Professor, I have just had a most interesting conversation with Jubilee.' He paused. How best to broach such a subject?

'Allow me to take a guess. Would this have been about Faith? The girl Faith, that is.' The older man smiled slightly.

'Indeed. Please, do not laugh at me. But – how best to put this?'

'Creatures such as demons and vampires exist, and Faith is something called a Slayer?' Xavier suggested. Kurt nodded.

'That would seem to summarise the problem, yes.'

'I'm sorry, but what problem?'

'My apologies. I appreciate that my opinions may seem foolish or even distasteful to you. But what little I know of the Slayer is that she is a weapon of the Lord, pure in all things.' Xavier managed to keep his face still, but it took an effort.

'And you feel that such a description does not apply to Faith?'

'I would not wish to say a word against her. But it now seems that much that I know is incorrect. I… cannot help but wonder how a soldier of God would become a confessed killer.'

'Accidents happen, Kurt.'

'Perhaps. But I feel that…' He tailed off.

'What you believe has been called into question?'

'No. What I _know_ has been called into question. It is worrying.' Xavier nodded, and turned his wheelchair, rolling out from behind the desk.

'I have spoken to you of my old friend Arturo.' He reminded the younger mutant.

'The Cardinal? Ja.' Kurt hopped to his feet, and reached out to hold the door for Xavier.

'He, like you, is a man of strong beliefs. However, he also knows a few secrets. I've told you about his current post. What I have not told you is that his Office has certain… other interests, and that he uses my library as an occasional depository. There are a number of texts that you might benefit from reading.'

Masks.

Logan liked to think of himself as an uncomplicated man. He drank, he smoked, he fought, he fucked – these were his pleasures in life. For many years, he had tried not to think past the next opportunity for one or more of these pastimes. He was not one for introspection.

Then had come the school. The old cripple who could, maybe, help him find his past, and the gorgeous redhead who could maybe help him build a future, at least of a couple of nights, and the tall, slim young man who was a sudden obstacle to that possibility.

He'd seen Scott's image then, the careful image of all-American youth in crimson shades above button-down shirt and buttoned-up slacks, reserved and controlled to the point of obsession. He hadn't been completely fooled by it – hell, he'd ridden the man's bike – but he'd still bought that it was the truth, assuming that it was the souped-up motorcycle, the wild-spirited fiancée, the casual jibes that were the act. Now, he realised he had been looking at a carefully constructed mask.

The mask was still there. To the students, to the Professor, Scott seemed unaffected by Jean's death. He was still reserved, still maintained his self-control. But now, it seemed to Logan, Scott _needed_ his self-control far more than before. The man known as Wolverine wasn't used to contemplating such problems – he tended to follow his impulses. But even he could see the contrast between Cyke as he was in the school, around everyone else, and Scott on his bike, when it was just the two of them and a dirt road. Once, he had suggested that the younger man should lighten up and stop holding back. Now, he worried that Scott was in danger of not holding back enough.

The man he had first met would never have encouraged him to beat a student bloody.

'Where we going?' Faith asked. It was the first thing she'd said since her breakdown in the Danger Room.

'War Room.' Scott replied, not looking round. He stopped at one of the doors that lined the metal corridors of the school basement. To the eyes of his companions, it seemed identical to a dozen other doors they had passed since leaving the Danger Room.

When the door slid back, Logan remembered. He'd been in here once, three months before, planning the rescue of Rogue from Liberty Island. If the room had been damaged in Stryker's attack, it had clearly been completely restored.

Scott gestured them towards the map table, taking a seat at the head and sliding out a keypad. He touched a button, and a large monitor slid down from the ceiling.

'Wicked cool.' Faith commented. She had stopped in the doorway, leaning slightly uncomfortably and surveying the gleaming room. 'You guys get George Lucas to do the interior design?'

'Sit down.' Scott suggested. Logan took a seat that allowed him to watch the monitor, the door, and the other two people in the room. Faith limped across, and pulled out a chair between the two men.

'Well, it's Faith's kind of place.' Cordelia pronounced as they entered the club. This early in the afternoon the massive speakers were silent, and the lighting as close to normal as could be achieved with a dozen strip bulbs in a converted warehouse.

'You mean shadowy and discrete?' Wesley asked.

'I mean dark enough that nobody can see how much makeup she uses. Oh yeah, and? Sleazy.' Cordelia gestured towards the murals along one wall, which showed somewhat exaggerated exotic dancers in silhouette. 'She'd fit right in here.'

Wesley, perhaps wisely, chose to ignore her comment, instead leading the way across the room to the bar.

There were four people behind the bar, positioning glasses, filling fridges, and generally getting things ready for the evening ahead. None of them looked up.

'Good afternoon.' Wesley began. As was often the case, his accent was enough to get the attention of the bar staff. 'We were wondering if you could help us. We're looking for a girl.'

'Come back in about five hours.' A short, heavily tattooed man replied. 'We'll be jumping then.' One of his colleagues gave a short bark of laughter.

'She violated her parole.' He hoped he was remembering the terms correctly. 'We heard she might have come here.' He placed a photograph from Faith's Department of Corrections file on the bar top, and deliberately rotated it to show the bartender. He stepped forward, and looked at it.

'You have any idea how many pretty brunettes we get through here every night?' He asked. 'This ain't much to go on.'

'She'd have been dressed seriously skanky.' Cordelia put in. 'And dancing like a total ho.' The bartender looked up.

'That narrows it down to about fifteen per cent of our clientele.'

'Hang on.' Said another man, leaning forward. 'Boston accent? Came in with a cute Chinese chick?'

'Certainly Bostonian.' Wesley responded. 'I'm afraid I can't answer for her companionship.'

'They left with a couple of guys.' The bartender went on. His shorter companion glanced at him in surprise. 'Hey, they were seriously hot. Especially her.' He tapped the picture.

'Do you have any idea where…'

'Hey, I work inside the place.' He replied. 'And they left out the back.' He gestured. 'No way to tell where they went.'

'There's the parking lot security cameras.' Said somebody else. 'We've got them on tape. That might have them arriving.'

'May we perhaps look at them?' Wesley asked.

New York city was a beautiful sight, seen from above.

Veronica had never been troubled by heights – never had any serious phobia – and, since her late teens, had shown every sign of not being afraid of anything whatsoever. For her, therefore, hanging a mile above the city supported only by the muscles of a man she'd met less than an hour before, with nothing to grab on to between him and the ground, was a wondrous experience.

She didn't talk much. Instead, she listened to the sounds of flight – the great whoosh of his wing-beats, the steady, measured sounds of his breath, the equally regular thudding of his heart, inches from her ears as he kept close to three hundred pounds of people and clothing aloft without apparent effort. He dove and wheeled, riding the thermals generated by the massive heat source that was the city, and then brought them in to a perfect landing on the roof of his own building.

'So, Veronica Sawyer.' He said. He'd set her down first before landing in front of her, his gigantic wings moving for balance momentarily and then folding behind his shoulders. 'Where are you from, Sawyer?'

'Ohio.' She replied.

'Ohio?' He sounded suddenly amused. 'Were you born there?'

'Yeah. In a crap-end town called Westerburg.'

'Is that anywhere near the river?'

'The Ohio River? Yeah?' She allowed. 'Where's this going?'

'Are you a spy?'

'I'm a cop.'

'You're neither.' He gave an odd smile. 'You're a bloodhound, set on the trail by hunters, to find monsters for them to kill. Do you regard mutants as monsters?'

She looked at the beautiful winged man in front of her, and answered honestly.

'No more than any other human beings.'

'Would it surprise you to learn that the majority of us fear the government?'

'Because some of us do think you're monsters?'

'Exactly.'

'So you hide other mutants from us, so we can't find the ones who are actually dangerous.'

'What's that on your belt?'

'A person can put down a gun. Some mutants don't ever need to pick one up.'

'Do you go round dojos and boxing gymnasiums registering everyone above a certain level of proficiency, then?'

'That's not the same. Some mutants don't have to want to hurt people to do so.'

'And that's where we come in. You want to know the truth, Agent Sawyer? We're not hiding mutants to protect them from you. Most of the time, when we take someone in, it's to protect the world from them. I learned to use my wings in an... establishment. My best friend there spent a year blind, because if he opened his eyes he'd blow a hole in the scenery. His girlfriend had to spend four hours a day with her head in a box, to keep her powers locked down enough for her not to go crazy from listening to our thoughts. When I went there, I thought I was a freak. After a couple of months, I realised just how lucky I am. I don't have to check for innocent bystanders before I sneeze.'

'But you do have to keep one third of your limbs strapped to your back. That can't be comfortable.'

'I chose this life. I'm discreet rather than secret. When someone needs our help, word gets back to me. Then I pass it on to the establishment. If you took me out, you'd cause a major setback to our organisation. We're the mutant underground, Veronica Sawyer. Today, you're going to choose whether you're with us, or against us.'

'Now that should have ended the fight, right there.' Scott commented. On the screen, Wolverine rose to his knees and blocked a roundhouse kick, before slamming an elbow into Faith's stomach.

'You see me arguing?' She turned to Logan. 'You just kept getting back up.'

'Worked, didn't it?'

'Well, yeah. But I still owned your ass.' Logan didn't comment. Scott did.

'Do you always spar like that?'

'Hey, you told me to go to town on him.'

'Anyone else would be dead, Faith. You can't fight like that all the time.'

'I just hit him harder every time he got up. You didn't exactly see him holding back, did you?'

Logan placed an open hand on the table in front of her. Faith glanced at his face, then at the hand. Logan extended his claws, and she jerked backwards in shock.

'Wolverine was holding back.' Scott commented redundantly. 'I'll expect the same from you, Faith. If you ever find yourself in a combat situation with the X-Men, you will **not** use lethal force.'

'And if someone gets killed because I was holding back?'

'Under certain circumstances…' Scott began, but Logan cut him off.

'You do what you got to.'

'That what you use the built-in cutlery for?'

A grunt was her only reply.

'There.' Said Wesley. 'Pause it there. There. There. Rewind!' Cordelia gave him an exasperated look.

'That wasn't her.' She replied, and hit the rewind button. Figures walked backwards on the screen. Filmed in black-and-white, at a distance, at night, the image was anything but clear.

'I think it was.' He tapped the screen. A girl, walking with three others, her face mostly concealed by her hair. What little was visible was, thanks to poor video quality, pretty much unidentifiable.

'Wes, you can't even see her face.'

'I can see the way she walks. I can see the way she interacts.'

'Right. Who are those people, anyway?' Cordelia could see two young women – both about Faith's height – and a tall man. All three had dark hair, although there seemed to be lighter bangs framing the face of one of the girls.

'Well, I would guess that one of them would be the Chinese girl our hosts mentioned.' Wesley replied. 'But I'd take any odds that we've found her. Rewind a little more.' On the screen, they watched as the four walked backwards into the parking lot and out of shot.

'Well?' Asked Cordelia.

'Wait.'

Seconds flickered past at high speed, and then something blurred across the screen.

'Wait. Stop. Pause.' Said Wesley. Cordelia hit the pause button. 'Play.'

A jeep shot into the parking lot at high speed, swiftly vanishing out of shot.

Wesley grabbed the remote control and paused the machine yet again before edging the video backwards.

'What? They probably get thousands of cars going past that camera every day.' Cordelia pointed out.

'How do you think Faith drives?' Wesley asked. The jeep edged backwards on to the screen. There were four people in it, and two of them had long, dark hair.

'Like a crazed maniac. Duh. Hey!'

'There.' Said Wesley. He tapped the screen. 'Now, if our friends in the FBI can expose this tape to a little detail work, we should be able to get a licence number.' He looked up with a triumphant smile. 'And then, we will have her address.'


	10. Chapter Nine

**Author's Note:** All talk, no action. It had to happen. But it's hopefully going to pick up soon.

**Chapter Nine**

The library of the Xavier School was exactly what you would expect – a large, high-ceilinged room on the ground floor, panelled and shelved in century-old oak. In the Professor's youth, the shelves had been filled with leather-bound tomes, mostly bought in bulk by ancestors who regarded an impressive library as another status symbol. Since turning his home into a school, however, the majority of these texts had been moved out in favour of books more relevant to forty hormonal teenagers studying against the possibility of college entry.

The room as it stood was still large, and fitted out in oak. The furnishings had been expanded to include a large number of extremely comfortable armchairs, though, and the shelves had been re-stocked with academic textbooks and an almost absurdly large fiction section. As a result of extensive lobbying by certain members of the student body, this included two shelves of cheap romance novels.

Like the school in general, though, the most interesting part of the library was kept hidden.

Kurt pushed Xavier into the library ahead of him, glancing round to reassure himself that they were alone. As it turned out, they were not.

'Rogue?' Xavier said gently.

The girl was curled up in one of the chairs near the back of the room, looking like a tight ball of misery.

Xavier did not make a habit of reading people's thoughts, but sometimes people broadcast. With Rogue, you could never be sure whether or not it was accidental.

'Go away.' He heard clearly in his mind, even as she responded, 'Yes, Professor?' She looked round, but did not uncurl.

'What's the matter?' He asked.

'Nothing.' She replied.

'Rogue.' Gently chiding. She looked up.

'Really, Professor, it's nothing.' Nothing that's your business, was the clear implication.

Xavier wasn't going to read her mind. But he was an intelligent man, and he had eyes.

'I take it Faith is not settling in as smoothly as might have been hoped?'

'She's been settling in, alright.' Rogue snapped back, before subsiding.

'… I see. Kurt, if you would…' The blue-skinned mutant wheeled Xavier across to Rogue's chair. The Professor gripped the push-rims, and turned himself to face a certain spot in the oak panelling.

'Rogue, ' he said, 'I would appreciate it if you would be discreet about the entrance to the stack.' He reached up, and pressed carefully. Before the surprised gazes of Rogue and Kurt, a section of wall, six feet high and four feet wide, shifted slightly inward and slid aside, revealing a small room.

'Kurt, this lift will take you straight down.' Xavier said. 'You'll find enough books left out to get started. Do you read Latin?'

'Yes.'

'I will join you in a short while, then.' Kurt bowed deeply to Rogue, and then stepped into the lift. As the door slid closed, Xavier turned to the young woman.

'You know, Marie, in fifteen years as a teacher you are absolutely the most problematic student I have yet encountered.' The girl looked up in him in astonishment.

'Why?'

'Because, once upon a time, in Jerusalem, I met a man called Erik, who never forgave himself for the lives he could not save.'

The briefing done, Scott had ordered Faith and Logan to hit the showers. Faith had briefly considered sneaking in to the men's locker room to see if fighting was the only thing Logan was good at, but a little thought had led her to the conclusion that this might be a bad idea. Instead, she had taken her time, luxuriating in a shower that had all the hot water, soap, and above all privacy that she could want, before dressing in the Xavier Institute sweats that waited for her and heading out.

She found Logan waiting for her in the corridor.

'Hey.' She said. He grunted in response.

Faith paused. She'd just beaten the crap out of this guy. On the other hand, he'd done a fair bit of damage back, and right now he looked to be in slightly better shape than she was.

'Are we cool?' She asked, after a moment.

'Yeah.' He replied. 'Walk with me.' He turned, heading towards the elevator. Faith fell in beside him, moving fast to keep up.

'This guy told me once there were two kinds of people in the world.' Logan said after a moment. 'There's people like Summers, and there's people like me, and you. There's the humans, and there's the animals.' Faith looked up.

'What…'

'I stabbed him in the stomach, left him in the snow.' Logan did not look at her. 'There were more important things going on.' They had reached the elevator, and stopped to wait. 'Point is, he was wrong. Yeah, I could be called an animal. But there's lots of kinds of animals, and lots of kinds of humans. You and me, we've got a couple things in common.'

Faith took a step back, glaring at the older man.

'Like what?'

'Like we both had fun back there.' The elevator doors slid open. 'And we can come to this place and try to fit in and be part of the team, but there's always a piece of us wants to cut loose.' He gestured Faith to join him, and pressed the button. 'And if that goes at the wrong time, the wrong people could get hurt.'

'So how do you make sure it doesn't?' She sounded challenging. Logan could see what she was doing.

'That's Scooter's job.' He glanced down at her. 'He'll make sure that when we need to lose it, it'll happen when there's nobody around can't take it. Who was it, last time?'

'Who was what?'

'Got hurt.'

Very deliberately, Faith turned away from him.

'Where did you get to?' Wesley asked, striding across the parking lot with Cordelia in tow. Sawyer and Bishop, just emerged from their car, turned in unison to regard their civilian consultants.

'Following a lead.' Sawyer responded easily. 'Turned out a dead end. I hope you haven't been too bored.'

'Bored? As if.' Cordelia cut in before the Englishman could speak. 'We found out where Faith was last night. And we've got a security video of the car she turned up in.'

'A… security video?' Asked Bishop.

'From the club parking lot. I mean, yeah, you can barely make out anything, but Wes reckons with a bit of digital work we'll be able to read the licence plate, and then we'll have her.'

Bishop was rapidly running through possibilities and delaying tactics in his mind, secure in the knowledge that, for now at least, Sawyer was on his side.

'It sounds like you hardly need us.' His partner was saying. 'Except to clean up your video tape and run the number, of course.'

'Of course.' Wesley handed over a paper-wrapped package. 'I found a place on Coney Island that allowed me to run off a couple of copies, just in case.' Bishop suppressed a frown. The Englishman was too efficient.

'Did you have any other plans?'

'Nothing worth discussing just yet.' Wesley replied.

Officially, nobody was allowed on the school roof. People generally paid attention to this rule, because the good sense behind it was obvious. Nobody frequented the roof.

Nobody frequented the roof, but that didn't stop people occasionally trying to go up there. The trapdoor onto the roof was locked. There were two only two keys and, as Xavier obviously could not climb the ladder, Scott was the only resident with access.

He no longer slept in the suite he had shared with Jean. His new room was so empty it hurt. The school roof was the place he went to be alone.

Scott lowered the door behind himself and wandered to the edge of the small flat area between the chimneys. He felt tired to the bone, and couldn't work out why – he was well rested and in peak physical condition. He also felt like having a drink, but that would have been a betrayal of his responsibilities. He couldn't go out, not now – he had duties, and he'd attend to them in just a few minutes. He just wanted to clear his head, first.

He sat down with his legs stretched out onto the steep-canted tiles, glanced about, and nearly fell off the roof.

Jubilee, crouched eight feet away with her back against the chimneystack, did not react.

'Jubilee?' Scott said after a moment. The girl looked up at him, scowling as she flipped down her pink shades.

'What?' She sounded angry.

'How did you get up here?'

'Climbed.' She turned away, and Scott nodded, berating himself for the stupid question. Bad enough that the students came complete with dangerous superhuman abilities – far too many of them came with other useful skills, just to season the mix. Jubilee was an Olympic-level gymnast, and could probably have climbed a frozen waterfall.

'Why?' He asked.

'The trap was locked.' Once, this might have been enough to make him smile. Now, he suppressed a slight scowl of irritation.

'Why here?'

'Where else is there? 'Cept you're here.'

'I am actually allowed up here.'

'You don't have to be.'

'I can't leave a student up here alone.'

'Scared I might do something stupid?'

'Well, you don't seem too happy right now.' Jubilee looked up at him.

'Yeah, well. My best friend died over a year ago, and I just found out.' Scott nodded as she turned away once more.

'How did you find out?'

'Her brother found my number in her stuff, and called me.'

'How was he taking it?'

'I didn't ask.' Shades met shades, and she turned her head aside. 'Look, Gunn's not exactly the most… he doesn't like to show…' She trailed off.

'You hung up on him?'

'Hey, I thought your girlfriend was the one with psychic powers…' She clapped her hands over her mouth, flushing red. 'Shit, Mr Summers, I'm sorry.'

Scott reached up and removed his glasses. Jubilee flinched as he turned his closed eyes towards her.

'It's alright, Jubilee.' His voice was perfectly level, his face composed.

For some minutes, neither of them spoke.

'You know, we've got passive monitoring on incoming 'phone calls.' Scott finally broke the silence, settling his glasses back onto his face.

'Huh?'

'I mean, even if he called from a cell phone, we'll have his number registered in the main computer.'

'You think I should call him back?'

'No. I'm just saying you can if you want to.'

'Oh.'

'Shall we go and retrieve his number?'

Jubilee hopped to her feet, and the two of them moved to the trapdoor.

Since starting his school, nine years previously, Professor Charles Xavier had found it necessary to counsel his students over a variety of problems. Of a generation far removed from his charges, he worked hard to understand their viewpoint and to avoid being judgemental, and had come to be accepted as a father figure by the majority. He had also, he thought, encountered almost every problem imaginable, from nightmares caused by childhood abuse to religious issues, from homesickness to homosexuality. He had never face a problem like the girl who now sat before him.

'I've always been able to deal with Erik.' He told Rogue, eliciting a frown. 'Not control, never that. And not predict, either. But we understand each other. If he became angry, I never needed to read his mind to find out why. When I was depressed, he always knew how to bring me out of it. We understood each other.'

'Do you think you still do?' She found herself asking. He ignored her question.

'You are not Erik, obviously. But you are not Marie, either. If you were still Marie, the child that was, I believe that we would have none of these problems. I… have learned to deal with teenagers.' He permitted himself a dry smile. 'I learned rather fast, of necessity. But you are far more than an ordinary, albeit troubled, teenager. Your powers have granted you a difference of perspective.' He paused; it was clear that she had something to say.

'It's just… seriously weird, you know? I look at you, and I see this old guy who teaches me. But there's a little piece of my head sees…' Rogue blushed, and Xavier nodded.

'I understand. Please, continue.' She gave him a grateful smile.

'I mean, I look at Bobby, and I see this tall, cute guy who I'm dating. But I also kind of see him as potential going to waste. I look at Kitty, and I see a friend with a great sense of humour and no conception of how to dress, and I also see a potential tool of immense value. I look at Remy… He's gorgeous. And dangerous. And he threatens my life – the closest thing I'll probably ever have to a normal life, anyway – just by existing. And there's no part of me that doesn't see him this way.' Xavier considered pursuing this for a moment, but decided to get to the point.

'And Faith?'

Faith. Faith was like Remy, in some ways. Faith's every action changes things. And Logan – or the memory Logan – really, really wants to fuck her. Erik sees her as a weapon, a blunt instrument, Sabretooth with a little more refinement. And she slept with Remy, and Rogue's really not happy about that, and she can't tell how much is Logan angry about being one-upped, and how much is Magneto not wanting potential followers forming alliances, and how much is her, just being jealous. And she feels guilty, because she's got Bobby, and she shouldn't be getting this jealous over another boy. But the worst of it isn't that Faith got there first. It's that Faith can get there at all.

Xavier realised, belatedly, that she had said none of the above out loud. He would have to work with her on shielding.

'Faith just rubs me the wrong way.' Was what actually came out. Xavier nodded, suddenly uncertain.

'Yeah?'

Gunn, it's me.'

'Jubilee? How the hell did you get this number?'

'Caller ID. Really high-tech caller ID.'

'Oh.'

'So… you wanna talk about it?'

'It was a long time ago, Jubes.'

'Not for me.' There was a long silence. 'Still can't talk about it, huh?'

'How's that school of yours?'

'Crazy. But cool. There's some good people here, Gunn. You'd probably hate them all. They get mad over really petty things.'

'Like how?' He was trying for amused curiosity, and almost managed it.

'Rogue is being, like, a total hosebeast, 'cause Remy, who isn't even her boyfriend, went and slept with Faith, who's this new girl. She's kinda crazy, but cool. You'd like her.'

'Faith? Now, there's a coincidence. You remember those dorks I said I was working for?'

'Uh… no. Hold it. You're _working_ for somebody? You're working _for_ somebody?' It wasn't quite the reaction he was expecting. Jubilee sounded slightly angry at the change.

'Yeah.'

'What happened?'

'What do you mean, what happened?'

'Alonna gets killed. You have to stake her. You're working for somebody. Please fill in the blanks.' She was more than slightly angry, now.

'That'll take a while.'

'I've got time. Haven't you?'

The external telephone in the school laboratory rang very seldom, so when it did Hank answered it formally.

'Xavier Institute, Dr McCoy speaking.'

'Hey, Blue. The student line's been engaged for an hour straight. What's up?'

'In reverse order, Robert, I don't know and please don't call me Blue.'

'Why not? I mean, you are blue now, Hank.'

'I prefer to pretend that this is a strictly transitory state of affairs, Robert.'

'No luck finding a cure?'

'None, alas. It would appear that the alterations effected by the schemings of the malevolent Stryker and the possession of our own precious Professor have become unalterably imprinted within the composition of my chromosomes.'

'So you're stuck blue?'

'Precisely, Robert.'

'So, like I said, whassup?'

'Very little indeed. I am merely studying the competitive confrontation, whilst imbibing a fermented hops beverage.'

'True.'

'Indubitably.'

'So. Anything crazy happen while I've been away?'

'Our ranks have been swelled.'

'Is she hot?'

'He is six feet in stature, strappingly built, and currently endeavouring to seduce a certain stunning Southern belle.'

'Hank!'

'Yes, Bobby. Faith is, indeed, an attractive young woman. However, I fear that you are far from her favoured form.'

'Wait, let me guess. Is it Mr Logan? Or that new guy, Remy?'

'Remy.'

'Story of my life, right, Hank?'

'Well, you still have Rogue. And she is certainly not to be sneezed at. How did it transpire with your parents?'

'Can we not talk about that right now?'

'They remain unaccommodating?'

'You could say that. Listen, I was thinking I'd come home a few days early. Do you think that would be okay with the Professor?'

'I'm sure it will be, at least if my powers of persuasion have been preserved in this permutation of my physique.'

'… Okay, you were pushing it there.' Hank, alone in the laboratory of his old school, grinned a big, toothy grin.

'Nonsense, Robert. An artist of alliteration can never allow apathy.'

'Ouch.' He could clearly hear that Bobby was grinning too. For a moment, neither spoke, just enjoying listening. Then,

'Bobby?'

'Hank?'

'You said you were coming home.'

'Yeah, well, I can hardly stay here. Ronnie keeps calling the cops and telling them I'm dangerous.'

'A few months ago, you would have believed that where you are now was home.'


End file.
